


Ultima Ratio Regum-The Ultimate Argument of Kings

by fractalserpentine, HopeofDawn



Series: Strangers In A Strange Land [5]
Category: Legacy of Kain
Genre: Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Gore, M/M, Noncanonical Character Death, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalserpentine/pseuds/fractalserpentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haven is not kind to resident vampires;  Raziel and Kain both find they need sustenance that only Nosgoth can provide.  But time waits for no man--or vampire--and the Hylden have not been idle in their absence ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of explanation: this was originally written for a long-running crossover RPG called Multiverse Haven (now sadly defunct). The basic premise of the game was that characters had been pulled from multiple worlds and marked as Chosen, in order to eventually restore a dying multiverse. There may be occasional references to characters and some borrowed vampire terminology from other canon sources.

Kain was unutterably furious.

Even as his fangs slowly grew in, the exhaustion that dogged his steps heightened. He battled it by taking ruthless advantage of the chaos in the wake of April first, overtaking beleaguered businesses, marshalling the remaining placeholders to more efficiently extend his influence. In the blasted remains of one of Haven's two news syndicates -- Kain had wanted a media outlet; now he had one -- he found the printing press plates for the newspapers that would have been circulated on the date of the fallen stars. The first of April was a fool's day, a day for jests -- which explained very well the Powers' intent.

And despite his rage at the perpetrated injustices, his forced and constant activity, Kain wanted more than anything to simply coil up someplace tight, someplace undisturbed.

There was no such place here, of course -- not in the city, where every alien sound and scent grated; not in the wild where monsters of strange ilk prowled, where the fragile fabric of reality was worn thin and crackling in great devastated swaths. The world felt ephemeral to him. So too did the placeholders and their vitae -- their blood was never precisely satisfying in the first place, and as the days passed it seemed to become less so. The hunger became a constant thing, as if Kain were somehow wounded, though his body was whole.

Something must have happened, Kain realized -- something to poison him, or perhaps the placeholders upon which he fed. Perhaps this was a further joke authored by the Powers, or evidence of their disregard for the creatures nominally under their care. He considered seeking Count D; the nature Kami might know something of the contamination from which Kain suffered. And yet the thought of approaching that numinous being in a state of anything less than prideful strength was... repugnant. And, Kain felt, dangerous. The wild could be a fickle nurturer of wounded things.

His eyeteeth were not yet fully grown in, and yet Kain could no longer pen Raziel in request of further delay. Whatever hidden element Kain required was not to be found within Haven. Even at the risk of the elder discovering what had happened, even with the suspicion that this persistent exhaustion might be harbinger of his demise, Kain ached to return home.

And so Kain stood, upon the agreed date, outside the dusty doors of the Powers' warehouse. Squinting with the lingering brightness of the slowly sinking sun, he awaited Raziel's arrival.

It took some time; and when Raziel did arrive, it was not from the air, as was his normal wont, but on foot. The effects of his healing of Sanzo were still apparent; haggard and drawn, he walked slowly and deliberately, as if the placement of his feet upon the pavement was uncertain. Raziel knew how he looked—knew Kain's likely reaction to it as well. But he had little choice, despite his wish to preserve his pride; days had passed since being reduced to this state, and none of the hunting he had done here had healed him or assuaged the empty, gnawing ache in his soul.

He needed to go back to Nosgoth as much as Kain did, perhaps more—and if it had not been for his promise to his sire, he would have already done just that.

"Kain," he said in simple greeting, once he was close enough.

Such was the depth of Kain's self-centered concern that his first notice of the elder's arrival was the scuff of edged chitin against the road's rough black surface. The elder had approached him from behind, must have concealed to some degree the sheer presence of his aura -- was it some trick, or were Kain's senses muted to such a degree? Irritated, Kain snarled, turned. "Raziel. What has..." delayed you so? he began, and then his gaze fell upon the winged vampire.

Raziel looked... haggard, ravaged. The armor across the elder's shoulders fit him poorly; supporting muscle had wasted away. His exposed belly and flanks were sunken, the delicate and slightly inhuman arches of his ribs were clearly visible beneath skin that seemed thin and faintly corpse-blue. Kain sucked in a breath, eyes wide. "What has befallen you?" he demanded.

Raziel had given a great deal of thought to what he would say, knowing that Kain would undoubtedly demand explanations—but even so, he found himself at a loss for a ready answer. He did not want to lie to his sire; but he could not in conscience tell *this* Kain the entirety of the truth, either.

Instead he summoned up a wry, sardonic attempt at a smile as he said, "An injury of my own making, I am afraid. I ... overestimated my abilities, and it has taken its toll. Once we have returned to Nosgoth, I should be able to hunt properly and recover."

Or so he hoped. There was always the niggling fear, well buried, that perhaps this condition might be permanent, no matter how many souls he devoured—that Sanzo's purification demanded the unalterable sacrifice of a portion of his power and flesh.

Kain's eyes narrowed as he stalked towards Raziel. Kain's exhaustion had not affected his posture or his gait; he would not permit it to. "What overestimation?" he pressed, for he could not in truth envisage a hazard that would weaken a creature such as Raziel so -- not unless the elder had pitted himself against, perhaps, Haven itself. Had the devastation of April first been symptomatic of some larger battle? "This place is poison, agreed," Kain growled, reaching to bring fingertips to Raziel's skin, "but what malignancy could have touched you so?"

"It is less a malignancy than an ... imbalance," Raziel admitted slowly, his back straight as he suffered Kain's touch. "One that I cannot rectify here, with only placeholders to feed upon."

The skin beneath Kain's fingertips was cool -- cooler than his own, -- and too dry, almost papery. The subdermal armor beneath the surface was intact, but gave a little beneath Kain's touch, the supporting tissue melted away by whatever imbalance Raziel had suffered. Imbalance -- such a simple elucidation for such apparent damage; it could not be the sole explanation. Kain thought on offering his own wrist, but if a poison had gathered in his veins, what would it do to Raziel in this weakened state? Kain snarled, withdrawing his hand, and circled to Raziel's left, eyes flicking over further evidence of physical depletion. "What imbalance?" Kain demanded. "Was it a foe of flesh and blood? A Power? Raziel, _what has happened?"_

Somewhat ruefully, Raziel realized that he had been foolish to believe that Kain would accept such feeble explanations, even for an instant. He closed his eyes, bowing his head for a moment—then opened them again. As Kain once again circled in front of him, he held out his hand—talons touching lightly against the younger vampire's jaw in a gesture that was almost ... entreating.

"It is ... an effect of the contagion in our world," he admitted quietly, holding Kain's gaze with his own. "Do not ask for me to say more ... I cannot, for reasons that you have yet to discover."

The Taint -- the solution for which, Kain knew, involved Raziel to some measure. Nosgoth's corruption had been at the forefront of Kain's mind for some time, betwixt Sanzo's susceptibility and Vorador's assurances that spreading the taint to others should be well-neigh impossible. Except, of course, that it had happened anyway. Kain's eyes widened. "Did I..." but no, how could he have passed the Taint to Raziel? The elder was surely already afflicted, having been born after Nupraptor's corruption despoiled the land. And the Taint was an insidious thing; it did not produce the ravages that Raziel had so clearly suffered. So far as Kain was aware.

Kain pulled back, abruptly remembering why he did not care to have Raziel's attention turned to his face -- at least, not for the next few weeks. He folded his arms, growling a low rumble. "I will have answers, Raziel, by your will or no." The timestream could very well go hang, if Kain's foreknowledge might prevent this from happening to Raziel again. "But I will have them after you have taken finer prey than placeholders." Quite the pair they two would make, to be certain. But Kain knew just the village -- not far from the place they'd last entered Nosgoth, and sorely lacking in defenses.

Raziel raised his eyebrows at that statement, but did not bother to argue it. Not here and now, with weariness dragging at every fibre of his being—or so it seemed. "Very well. Shall we continue, then, before a new disaster finds a way to dog our footsteps?" He moved towards the door of the warehouse, head up and back straight as if to belie the nature of his appearance.

"This realm does seem to harbor more than its share of calamity," Kain agreed, watching closely the deliberateness of Raziel's gait. It did not seem as if Kain would need to bring stunned or bound prey to Raziel, though -- Kain idly checked the contents of a dimensional pocket as he pressed the button to summon the sub-Power to the door -- he had rope enough to do so if necessary.

Makube-X took nearly a minute to arrive, and seemed harried when he did. The warehouse was in greater disarray than Kain recalled; more portals were marked by red lights, and great piles of cargo were stacked haphazardly. Kain found himself speculating as to the palatability of the sub-Power as the two vampires were lead once more to the portal to Nosgoth. The boy was small, to be sure, but his wariness as Kain eyed him was quite... delicious. If consuming the humans of Nosgoth could restore Raziel -- and, Kain hoped, himself as well -- how much better would be the lifeblood of a Power, even a minor one?

And then the doorway to Nosgoth cleared, and a stray breeze flooded the walkway with the scents of night and recent rain and woodsmoke. Distracted from his appraisal of the young human, Kain passed one of the small blue pendants to Raziel, and started for the opening.

Home ... The sights and scents tugged at Raziel like a lodestone, the gnawing need he had lived with for the last ten days becoming sharper, fiercer at the sight of Nosgoth. His power had its origins on that world, tainted as it was, and broken ... and now it urged him to return.

Almost blind to Makubex's presence, Raziel followed Kain through the portal without hesitation. The wrenching and disorientation that accompanied it were familiar now, if not particularly welcoming, and once Raziel had set foot onto the grassy sod, he reached down, curling fingers into the loam and breathing deep. Woodsmoke, forest and animal life ... and distantly, the scent of human habitation—mud and shit, sweat and blood and iron. He raised his head, turning unerringly in the direction of the scent. "Our prey is not far ..."

Returning to Nosgoth was, for Kain, akin to recovering a lost limb. Core-deep webs of connection and feedback he sensed but only vaguely understood linked into place, a union so deep he could taste it in his mouth and feel it in his soul. For a moment, the sensation of unification overcame even the nausea of crossing so much space and time. Kain cleared his lungs of Haven's empty air and filled them with scents so real they seemed like colors. Deep black earth, bright blue water that clung to every blade of autumn-gold grass.

And virulent green. Kain staggered a little, hoping that the lingering disorientation was a product of the portal, not his own growing weakness. Green. It was not a scent, not exactly, just... something at the distant fringe of his senses. And for the briefest moment, he did not want to lead Raziel towards it -- but then the breeze brought him the raw sweet sweat of human exertion, the spices and fires of a farmers' autumnal festival, and there was no thought of controlling the rising flood of hunger. Kain smiled savagely. "Not far, indeed," he grated, breaking into an easy lope.

Raziel rose to his feet and followed, the anticipation of the hunt pushing back his weakness and lethargy and lending new strength to his limbs. The grassy knoll that they had arrived upon dipped down, and soon they were among trees once more. It slowed their progress—but not by much, given that both Kain and Raziel were experienced woodsmen, and easily avoided the bracken and bogs that lay in wait among the shadows.

They continued that way for sometime, letting scent guide them unerringly to the village beyond the forest, until the trees began to thin once more and the first outbuildings could be seen.

The village was small, and rudely made in the way of most peasant dwellings. Most of the buildings were made of wood, with shingles instead of thatched straw as the only luxury. The village-dwellers had done their best to brighten them with such ornaments as they could make, to celebrate their harvest—braided sheaves of wheat, and bright berries on strings. One trickling stream meandered through the middle of the village, and a bonfire crackled in the center square. Neither would prove a barrier to either of them.

Raziel paused in the shadows of the trees, watching. Assessing the nature of his prey. He saw no soldiers, nor weapons at the ready—just the crude implements of farming.

A handful of peasants yet wandered the square, keeping close to the fire for warmth as the night air cooled. But there were more than half a dozen wooden houses arrayed around the central clearing; that meant there should be forty or more inhabitants. At least some of the peasants must lay abed, though at this distance, Kain could not detect any heartbeats from within the buildings. Kain crouched beside Raziel, eyes narrowed. As much as Kain enjoyed a rousing fight, the thrill of instigating a panic, hunger took precedence over sport. "The slumbering first," he murmured into Raziel's ear, with a small gesture at the closest of the wooden buildings. "Have you a hooded cloak?" Provided they did not expose the pallor of bared skin, both vampires might simply walk into any of the darkened bunkhouses without question.

Raziel shook his head. "I do not think I will need one," he said with a confidence born of experience. Lacking Kain's innate gifts of disguise, Raziel had long ago perfected his ability at stealth—especially when it came to hunting. "There are no guards here, nor sentries. Only a few tired and drunken peasants to contend with."

Kain paused a moment, then nodded. Even in emaciated condition, Raziel had been silent as death itself as they had moved through the thick forest -- Raziel's lesser weight and exceptional familiarity with stealth made him far quieter even than Kain. And the bondsmen yet awake at this hour would be quite nightblind, clustered as they were near the fire.

Crouched low, Kain circled behind the closest of the tight-clustered buildings, expecting Raziel to follow. At the corner, he paused a moment, concentrating on the magic to alter his visage into a more human form. The effort left him faintly nauseous for a moment, and he steadied himself against the rough-hewn wooden wall for the space of a breath, waiting for his senses to clear. Motioning Raziel to stay hidden a moment, Kain stood and, with deceptive calm, strolled around to the front, adjusting a cloak about himself as if to shake off the nonexistent evidence of recent rain.

The door opened to Kain's touch, and the scents of humans living in close company -- sweet and rank and beckoning by turns -- wafted on body-warmed air. A double-handful of bunks lined the walls, many of them occupied. Movement turned Kain's head as he stepped quietly within. A young woman, just to one side of the door, was collecting scattered bottles and mugs into a woven basket. "Oh!" she looked up. "Who are...?"

Kain laid a finger to his lips. "Travelers, from distant Coorhagen," he murmured with a nod to the sleeping figures, as he genteelly reached to take the basket from her nervous hands.

"Travelers?" she said more quietly, letting Kain take the weight of her burden, but not entirely surrendering it. "I don't..."

Kain met the human's eyes and ripped her mind away. The earthenware in the basket clinked softly as she slumped against the wall, but held securely in Kain's grasp, the basket did not fall. Kain set it quietly on the ground, then leaned out and gestured Raziel around.

Raziel slipped from the shadows, wings folded tight to his back. His pale skin and red shoulder-cape should have betrayed his location to any who cared to look, but they did not; he knew well that the human eye, like most creatures', was attracted to movement over shape or color, and adjusted his movements accordingly.

Giving Kain a nod, he left the younger vampire to his prey and moved silently to the nearest bunk, booted feet making no sound upon the weathered floorboards. The man who occupied it had a face slack with sleep and drink, his pungent breath buzzing unpleasantly through nose and mouth. None of that deterred Raziel, and he bent over the man. The kill was quick—a cut across the windpipe, and then he wrapped his palm over the man's mouth to stifle the inevitable gurgles and wheezing moans. Pulling the man's head to one side, Raziel bit deep into the jugular, sacrificing the blood that spilled out too fast for him to drink in favor of a speedy meal. Within moments the man had bled out. Raziel straightened from the new-made corpse, wiping the back of a gauntleted hand against his bloodstained mouth.

Kain realized soon enough that his own prey was of slightly different ilk than the commoner laborers. She was marginally cleaner, and perhaps a little better nourished than was average for a peasant. A poor merchant's daughter, mayhaps, not that she could be questioned -- her wide-staring eyes held nothing more than mindless fear. Clasping a hand over the human's mouth to stifle any whimpering, Kain lapped a stripe up her throat, found the pulse, and bit.

Kain's eyeteeth were far from long enough to rip out the woman's throat in a single bite; they only just pierced through to the artery. The comparatively small injury alone kept him from devouring the human swiftly -- she was young, vital, and quite delicious. A few hasty, glutinous mouthfuls, and Kain drew back a moment, pressing two fingers over the punctures. "Ah, Raziel," he whispered, barely a breath of sound. "A most delicate chaser, this -- do try some." Returning his mouth to the wounds he'd made, Kain tilted his captive's head to expose the other side of her throat.

Eyes gleaming gold in the shadows, Raziel readily accepted Kain's invitation. While he would not have imposed himself upon Kain's kill otherwise, he certainly would not pass up the opportunity to taste the girl's blood.

He sank to one knee once there, bracketing the girl's body between his own and Kain's rough embrace. The girl was already half-dead, eyes fluttering in a swoon and unable to resist as Raziel laid first lips, then teeth into the soft flesh of her throat, and drank deep. Her blood was immensely satisfying, as Kain had promised; it did not have the powerful kick of vampire blood, nor any potency of magic within, but was entirely human, fresh and hotly alive.

The human's heart sped to pounding rhythm as her body struggled to maintain blood pressure in emptying arteries -- the response only delivered the fluid to the vampires faster. Soft, gasping breaths slowed and then stopped altogether; the heart beat erratically a few moments longer. At last, Kain drew back, lapping regretfully over the wounds and then licking his lips clean. Humans never seemed to last long enough.

But at least there were others to be had. It would be a shame to wash the fine taste of the woman's blood from his mouth, but under the circumstances, aesthetics gave way to need. Kain rose from the dying body and stalked past a few of the bunks, passing over the first grizzled peasant in favor of a younger man. Kain did typically make some attempt to avoid devouring children or women of bearing age -- not out of mercy, but because the first could provide more nourishment if permitted to age some, and the second were more useful as breeders -- but stripling males were fair game in his estimation. Hand clamped over this one's mouth, Kain pinned the youth beneath his weight, slit the throat with his claws, and ducked his head to drink.

Raziel dallied a moment as Kain relinquished his grasp on the girl, lowering her body to the dusty floor. Bending, he lapped up a few remaining trickles of blood from the cooling skin, then brushed a palm over the waxen face and straightened once more.

The girl's blood, and that of the man, had been healthy, human—untainted by the artificiality of placeholder blood or by the pervasive magic of Haven. But it still had not eased his Hunger ... he needed souls. Which meant that either he summoned the wraithblade here, and risked waking others—or forced himself into the Underworld to hunt them there. The latter option was unappealing, especially with the prospect of the Elder God lying in wait for him.

Kain finished with his second kill soon enough, and sat back, hand over the human's mouth, waiting for the last faint struggles to cease. While the feeding was infinitely more satisfying here than in Haven, the lingering sense of something amiss within him persisted. Physically, Kain was quite sated, and yet he still felt... hollow. Fragile. If something about Haven had somehow poisoned him, would more feeding help? Perhaps another human -- Kain glanced around the cramped room, and his gaze fell across Raziel, who remained by the slain woman, seeming deep in thought. Frowning, Kain turned to query him.

His hand left the human's mouth.

The man's cry was strengthless and gurgling -- Kain had perhaps only nicked the human's windpipe while slitting his throat. As far as dying acts went, it was a small one. But effective, nevertheless. With a snort, one of the older workers awoke and bellowed as he struggled drunkenly with his blankets. The bunkhouse erupted in chaos.

Raziel reacted without thought. The wraithblade sprang to life on his arm, and with a few swift steps, he buried it in the chest of the nearest rousing peasant. The man cried out and convulsed as the soul-eating energy blade ripped through his mortal flesh and wrested free his soul. But he could not fight it, nor flee, and he died in moments, slumping back into his disarranged bedding, his corpse collapsing in upon itself and turning to ash with unnatural swiftness.

The parasitic blade took the soul as its due—and joined with it, Raziel could feel new energy flowing into him as well, healing the ravages of his long starvation. He suppressed the urge to crow in triumph, and instead turned on his heel, looking for his next victim.

Kain lashed out, crushing the head of the closest still-living peasant. Kain had desired a chance to feed the Reaver, though he would have preferred to bloody its blade at a time and place of his choosing. He reached to summon it now -- the Reaver all but leapt from its dimensional pocket. Keening hunger and anticipation, it materialized in Kain's hand.

And for a single long moment, Kain could do nothing with it. The room had brightened with cold light even before the Reaver's arrival -- Raziel's right arm was wreathed in writhing blue flames, his thick talons grasped around the hilt of an ephemeral, yet strikingly familiar, serpentine blade.

The three remaining peasants within the wooden house were tumbling from their beds, gathering up whatever rude farming implements were to hand. One man's woolen blanket, tossed aside, caught upon the bunkhouse's small, hooded lantern, knocking it to the ground with a splash of spilled oil.

Raziel paid no heed, lost in the glory of the hunt and the kill. One of the peasants swung a shovel at his head—he ducked, crouching low, then deflected a backstroke with one gauntleted arm. A slice of the wraithblade across the man's belly, and he was down, dropping the shovel and crying out. A second slice, and his soul was devoured, his body ash.

A scythe clanged off Kain's smoky black armor, and the Reaver howled as he brought the blade about to deal with the new threat. The sword was too long to handle properly in such a small space -- it cleaved through two wooden legs supporting a bunk and then found its harbor in the torso of a man. Cold blue light pulsed down the Reaver's length -- the sudden drain to Kain's weakened magic reserves was breathtaking -- and the peasant... disintegrated. The unfocussed blast of power blew the mortal's body apart even as the Reaver, shrieking, claimed a soul.

Flames caught hold on the woolen blanket; gore coated the walls and ceiling -- and Kain. The broken bunk began to collapse. And the last peasant, his screams now purely of fear, broke and ran for the door.

Towards Raziel.

Two steps, and he was in the terrified man's path. Three, and he was within reach of the wraithblade. Lunging low, he struck down the human with a backhanded stroke, blood flying in the air, mingled with blue specks of soulstuff. The peasant crumpled, falling forward, and Raziel stepped forward, wraithblade keening eagerly, the reflected light turning his eyes almost white, and ran him through, devouring the final soul with relish, his face feral and intent.

The Reaver found a new target.

It _crackled_ , lightning coursing the length. The hilt shivered in Kain's grasp, alive and seeking and desperately hungry in his hands. Kain was disoriented, startled, his grip slick with blood -- the blade dragged him around and nearly brought him a half-step forward.

Towards... "Raziel," Kain snarled, trembling with the effort to stall the Reaver's imperative. Ash still showered down around the elder. The energy blade in Raziel's grasp keened, a high hollow sound, with every small movement. It linked to his arm, incandescent blue wrapping from elbow to wrist. And the weapon that seemed molded to Raziel's claws -- the hilt, the crossguard, the length of the blade -- all identical to the   
Reaver, only formed of twisting blue lightning rather than metal.

The falling bunk spilled bedding into the spreading flames. The blankets smoldered a moment, then caught fire, blazing up behind Kain. Smoke began to fill the rafters, and even over the humming of the twin Reavers, Kain could hear a cry of alarm taken up outside the building.

"So much for the element of—," Raziel began to say as smoke filled the small building; then his eyes widened and he took a couple wary steps back as he realized the Reaver's intent.

"Kain ..." He hastily dismissed the wraithblade, leaving only a remnant blue flicker over his talons, and crouched slightly, ready to dodge an attack. He did not think Kain wished to kill him, but whether even a young Kain could control the Reaver blade ... of that he was not so sure.

With the energy blade's disappearance, the Reaver's drive faded -- fractionally. The hilt still trembled in Kain's hand, as if it would leap from his grasp. The Reaver had no force of destiny behind it, not at the moment -- only hunger directed its fury. And while that compulsion was strong, Kain could not, would not, allow it to control him. And... Kain could not risk the demise of the elder. He now had a great many more questions to put to Raziel, for one thing. Kain would direct the Reaver; never would he permit it to force his hand. Kain opened a dimensional pocket and enfolded the Reaver...

...and it refused to vanish. It remained, quivering with the force of its hunger, in his hand, ignoring Kain's magic with utter unconcern.

"Out," Kain growled, teeth clenched. Heat bathed his back.

Curbing his instinct to bridle at the summary order, Raziel followed it instead, darting away from the flames and out into the open (if smoky) air. There, unfortunately, was another barrier—villagers, running and shouting and all headed towards the conflagration that had erupted in their midst. Raziel half-turned—none of them were close enough yet to identify him as a vampire through the smoke and the chaos, but that would not last long. He was not about to abandon Kain, however.

Kain followed quickly, ducking outside the rough building. The Reaver's attention, such as it was, could be ephemeral -- as staggering, milling villagers came into view the blade's focus shifted. And this time, Kain and the Reaver were in accordance. The Reaver's electric glow cast light and shifting shadows through the smoky air; Kain caught just a glimpse of Raziel through the billowing clouds. The elder seemed better somehow, no longer haggard. But Kain had no time for a long inspection -- he darted towards where half-dressed villagers spilled from the largest wooden building.

Following in Kain's wake, Raziel was content to let his sire take point and sate the Reaver's hunger. The souls he had already taken had eased the gnawing Hunger that he had been forced to live with in Haven, and now he concentrated on protecting Kain's back and flank, cutting down any peasants who tried to mount an attack. There weren't many—between the fire and the unexpected vampire attack, chaos ruled, and there were no soldiers or guardsmen around to rally an effective defense. All to the good, as far as Raziel was concerned.

Another man tried to sink a dagger in his back; Raziel backhanded him with casual strength, breaking his neck and sending the body flying backwards. It was a waste of blood, but he did not want to be distracted with a kill when Kain was wrestling with both his own Hunger and that of the Reaver.

The Reaver sang as it swept a straggling peasant's head from his shoulders, blasting the body apart as it fed. Kain leapt the small stream with ease, boots splashing in the shallows. The serpentine blade's appetite was bottomless, but the desperate edge to the ravenousness eased after a handful of kills. Kain could neither feed nor utilize greater magic while the Reaver screamed in his hands. He was about to sheathe the blade and turn back -- both to escape the worst of the chaos and to seek Raziel -- when an armored man stumbled from one building.

The guard's armor glowed a dim, vile green, and something within Kain's chest... clenched. Seized. A stray sweep of a peasant's rake struck him to the ground.

"Kain!" Raziel had turned just in time to see the younger vampire falter, and be ambushed in a moment's inattention. The peasant did not live long enough to savor his victory—Raziel's sabre struck the man's head clean off his shoulders.

Closing the distance between them, Raziel crouched at Kain's side. "What is it—?" he asked ... then saw the glyph-ridden armor through the haze of smoke, and knew. "Hylden ... " he snarled in hatred.

"Wha --" Kain gasped, for it seemed that Raziel had simply appeared from the turmoil. The pressure in his chest was easing, but -- "Not a Hylden, only a man," Kain growled, rolling to his knees. He'd seen the guard's face clearly. Human, surely -- nothing like the carvings and murals Kain had come across in his travels. But the armor was unlike any Kain had ever seen, traced everywhere with tiny green threads, forming symbols that gave the platemail its sickly glow.

The disoriented guard carried a long spear, and the head of that too was inscribed with symbols. The guard's head swiveled as he searched, nightblind, for the source of the chaos. Then his eyes fell upon Kain -- and Raziel. With a bellow, the man brought his spear to bear, and charged.

Baring fangs in a snarl, Raziel stepped in front of Kain, giving the younger vampire time to recover as he met the attack head-on. He had battled enough Hylden to be wary of anything with their glyphs upon it; but still, this creature was only human, despite his otherworldly armor. Moving on instinct, Raziel struck the side of the spear with one taloned hand, batting it aside—

—then he hissed, belatedly realizing his error as the green magicks burned their way into even his armored hide. The guard took the opportunity, stabbing forward again. "Die, vermin!"

Kain growled low, scrabbling to his feet even as Raziel intercepted the assault. He gathered himself to lunge, then caught the elder's hiss as the green runes sizzled against skin. Thrusting the Reaver's blade downwards, into the soft soil, Kain stretched both hands forward, calling upon his reserves of magic to unleash a volley of telekinetic bolts -- he'd risk nothing stronger with Raziel so close to being in his line of fire.

The bright white balls of force -- lesser cousins of the blasts Raziel so effortlessly wielded -- shot from his hands and struck the human... and were deflected, like stones skipping over the surface of a lake. The guard was only staggered back, rather than blown to pieces, and bolts scattered wildly.

Raziel, already ducking away from the man's spear-thrust, found himself diving and rolling away from the ricocheting bolts. As he did so the guard's spear managed to tangle itself in the strap of his satchel momentarily; with an annoyed growl, Raziel tore himself free, letting the small back drop to the ground as he swung his sabre viciously up at the guard.

It was a testament to the man's skill that he managed to block, even as off-balance as he was. Sabre hit the shaft of the spear with a screech of metal and a flare of green fire, and only Raziel's greater strength kept him from being flung backwards in much the same manner as Kain.

Raziel's dive separated him from the spear-wielding guardsman just enough to permit an opening. And the guard, Kain realized, had apparently not had time to fully suit himself. Kain plucked a small, brutal shard of metal from midair and wet its edges in blood between his palms, then released it. The Flay device spun from his hands, slicing through the guard's sackcloth trousers and the flesh of one thigh -- then the metal spun away into the panicked crowd, deflected by chance or by that vile green glow. But enough damage was done; the guard cried out, dropping to one knee.

Lunging up from his crouch, Raziel took advantage of the opening. With a swift, one-handed thrust, he stabbed his sabre low, below the man's breastplate. The guard reacted as Raziel knew he must, interposing his spear once more in a frantic defense, and jarring the weapon away—but in doing so he left himself open to Raziel's *other* hand.

Talons sank into the man's unarmored throat, carving through flesh effortlessly. With a snarl of triumph, Raziel ripped out the man's throat, blood geysering over the inscribed breastplate, dulling the green-glowing runes.

Kain pulled the Reaver free of the hard-packed soil and swung it to its hooks on his back. Peasants were still milling frantically, some running for the woods and others dragging buckets to and from the stream, but there was no immediate danger of attack. Half-crouched, he moved closer, to better look upon the dead human. "What foul magery is this?" he growled, then caught sight of Raziel's talons, and the blistered wound left behind. It seemed almost as if the elder had come in contact with a holy assault. Kain reached out to capture Raziel's wrist. "How badly are you injured?"

"It is a flesh wound only," Raziel said dismissively. He suffered Kain to inspect his wrist, though his own gaze was bent on the corpse at his feet, and the armor it bore. "What concerns me more is what a human was doing with armor such as this ... It could not have been made here."

Hardly a flesh wound, in Kain's opinion -- the blackened burn would have taken him some considerable time to heal. But there was no opportunity for first aid of any sort in this chaos. Kain crouched and extended a hand, pausing at the twisting clench in his chest. Something about the green glow, even blood-covered, was excruciatingly uncomfortable. "It is of Hylden origin, then?" Kain hazarded. He stood and placed a boot in the center of the slain guard's spear, reached down, and wrenched up on the haft, snapping the wood in twain. He glanced over the half cap, looking for a forgemark.

"It is," Raziel confirmed with a growl. "Those glyphs are of Hylden origin, and the magic—I have encountered such before. Though never used by humans." Letting Kain inspect the spear, he crouched down next to the corpse, looking over the armor, though taking care not to touch it. No need to risk further injury unnecessarily.

Kain glanced up, eyes narrowed in thought. If what he understood of Nosgoth's history was correct -- and he could not be certain of that -- the Hylden were entrapped in another dimension, and sealed there by the pillars themselves. So either the pillars would decay into nothing in the future, or Raziel had traveled to the past, as had Kain himself. "Where did you encounter these glyphs? And when?"

A simple question with a decidedly complex answer. Raziel chose the simplest one, if not necessarily the most complete.

"In the future, far ahead of this time. The Hylden demons inscribed these glyphs wherever they wished to work their magicks; oftentimes against our kind. Barriers, destructive spells, and other such workings." Raziel looked at the dead man a moment more, then straightened. "They are singularly persistent, I will grant them that."

Flames had begun to spread between buildings, Kain noticed, and this was hardly a safe place to have long conversation. Raziel's pack lay nearby Kain. He scooped it up and handed it over to the elder. The strap was broken; Raziel would have to wrap it within a pocket dimension to carry until a replacement strap could be cobbled together, even if the satchel was more convenient for accessing items swiftly. "Persistent? What do they seek?"

Taking the pack, Raziel frowned down at the torn strap for a moment, then let it dangle from one hand with a shrug. He'd mend it later, as best he was able. "Freedom from their prison, one supposes. Domination, the extermination of the vampire race ... all the things they have always sought." Seeing Kain was ready, Raziel began walking towards the edge of the village, towards the shelter of the trees.

"It seems, then, that the future has become the present." Taking up the halt of the guard's spear, Kain backed away from the furor and then caught up with Raziel. "Best enfold that in a dimensional pocket -- this racket will bring down more Sarafan dogs." Kain glanced over the elder's body. It was impossible to be certain, with the blood and ash of battle coating Raziel's fine skin, but -- "You have healed?"

"Dimensional pocket?" Raziel had seen Kain pull weapons and such from thin air before, of course, but he had never thought the ability would apply to him. "Unfortunately, I ... never learned such an ability," he said carefully, then turned his hand so Kain could see. "And yes, it is almost completely healed already."

"It, and yourself as well. A most miraculous recovery," Kain mused, picking his way rapidly between tufts of damp grass. Blood alone had not healed Raziel so completely, of that Kain was certain. Sometime during the fight, Raziel's flesh had filled out; the elder no longer seemed emaciated or at all weakened. Kain paced a few moments more, thinking. "Of what derivation is the spectral blade you wield?"

Thankful for the smoke and darkness that helped conceal his expression, Raziel did his best to make his answer casual, offhand. "It is an energy weapon—a parasitic weapon bound to me." _To my soul,_ though Raziel did not say it, nor anything about the wraithblade's soul-devouring properties. *That* leap of logic would be far too easy for Kain to make, he feared...

"Parasitic? It feeds you, does it not? And its appearance..." Kain ducked under a bough, brushing it with his hand. A handful of autumn-gold leaves showered down around him. Raziel had been entrapped within the Reaver, before the Powers' interference. Now... now the Reaver was entrapped within Raziel. Even Kain had to admit the magnificence of that particular irony.

"Perhaps symbiotic would be a better description," Raziel conceded. "It feeds me, upon occasion—but I must also feed it. And if I do not ... there are consequences." As the undergrowth grew thicker around them, he fell behind Kain, picking his way carefully to minimize sound and any other betraying signs of their passage.

Kain paused at the top of a low rise, casting a glance back over the field of battle. The village now burned fiercely, its inhabitants having fled to the forest instead of confronting the blaze. Distant sparks of torchlight marked the road -- one bright speck was moving fast, and away from the small town. A runner, perhaps, or a man on horseback. News would travel quickly. Kain reached over his shoulder to touch his fingertips to the Reaver's hilt, wondering. "Has it all the properties of the physical Reaver?" he asked.

So much for concealing the wraithblade's origins. Ruefully, Raziel realized it had been a futile attempt to even try. "Most, but not all." He tilted his head. "Is there a particular reason you have for asking?"

Kain considered Raziel a moment, then turned away, continuing swiftly up the faint trail that wove through the thick underbrush. "And these consequences -- the Reaver's hunger was the cause of your own... exhaustion?" If so, then perhaps the souls Kain's own Reaver had taken would affect a cure for his condition. Kain was not bound to his Reaver, so far as he knew, so it could be that the healing would take some time, or a greater number of souls.

"Not ... quite," Raziel murmured, his eyes upon the serpentine blade slung at Kain's back. The darkened eyes on the skull seemed to bore into him; a silent promise of his fate. "It is ... difficult to explain, at best. I do not know if I understand it completely myself."

Kain thought on Raziel's words for a time. They descended into a shallow vale, sheltered thickly by branches overhead. Kain fisted his right hand and summoned a small ball of magelight, dimming it for his night-adjusted sight, then released it to drift slowly upwards. In the better light, he turned to regard Raziel. "Your physical condition and the spectral Reaver -- they are entwined, correct?"

Raziel met his eyes levelly. He had never before wanted so badly to lie to Kain, to conceal the truth ... But the history between them, as well as his own ingrained habits of obedience, barred that from him. Kain had enough lies from others. Raziel would not add to them.

"Somewhat," he said quietly. "If I use the spectral blade too much, and do not pause to allow it to feed, it will turn on me, devouring my strength instead. And if I am weakened by other means, the blade will also likewise become less potent. It is ... integrally linked to my power. My ... soul."

There were layers to Raziel's words -- old and bitter pain, betrayals more bitter still. And while Kain could not begin to sort through those layers, he saw clearly the truth in Raziel's eyes, and had no reason at all to doubt. Everything Raziel said seemed quite logical, in any case. The Reaver consumed the souls of its victims, and Raziel had been -- still was, depending on one's historical perspective -- trapped within; of course the blade would now be linked to him.

Kain reached out to brush back a wing of dark hair from Raziel's face. Perhaps those layers of anguish explained Raziel's reluctance to explain whatever had happened to weaken him so -- though the Reaver had perhaps played a role in that event. But unless Kain knew what had occurred... he could not prevent it happening to Raziel again. "Raziel. I thank you, but you have not revealed what befell you in Haven."

The night was dark and still around them, with only the distant crackling of the fires and the wind rustling the boughs of the trees breaking the silence. Even the insects seemed hushed, as if also waiting for Raziel's answer.

Raziel searched Kain's expression—those pale, aquiline features, imbued with intent arrogance, the first face he had seen in his new life. The only face he had known for many nights thereafter. Fighting back the sudden spasm of memories, his talons tightened on the broken strap of his satchel, cutting into the tough hide.

"Sanzo ... asked me to heal him of his taint."

The Taint -- the rot that wove through the heartcore of Nosgoth. Kain's eyes widened. "You attempted..." He had some knowledge of the depth to which the corruption ran -- it had filtered through the earth and deep into Kain's bones. It webbed every aspect of every entity on the planet. Kain already knew that healing it was no trivial matter. And now he knew fully the peril involved in making the attempt.

Kain seized the center clasp of Raziel's armor and dragged him close, snarling. "Damn you, Raziel -- how dare you court such risk!" Particularly in Haven, where there were no souls to fuel the elder or the Reaver bound to him -- "Are you mad? Did you have any inkling of the hazard in which you placed yourself?"

Surprised by the sudden spike of anger, Raziel was jerked off-balance by Kain's grip, and only his own instinctive jerk backwards kept him from stumbling fully into the younger vampire. "Enough, Kain," he snapped defensively. Then, seeing the concern underneath the anger, his stance gentled somewhat. Raziel rarely deigned to explain or excuse his actions to any other ... but Kain was, as always, an exception.

"I knew there was an element of risk," he admitted quietly. "I was not wholly sure I would succeed in the attempt. But the taint was slight, and ... I did not want to give the madness a chance to spread."

 _"Some element of risk?_ You were..." Kain halted there, glanced aside. Raziel was unlikely to appreciate the reminder of his condition. But Kain would not soon forget that terrible fragility, the thinness, as if Raziel's body had burned itself away from the inside out. And somehow, despite the damage and what must have been a critical drain on the elder's resources, Raziel had succeeded.

Kain clenched his jaw. "You have the right of it; the taint could not be permitted to spread." But he would not have had Raziel bear the cost of excising it. The fault had been of Kain's making.

The hand that was not holding the satchel came up to Kain's wrist—not to dislodge the younger vampire's grip on his armor, but simply to clasp it. "If I had known it would weaken me to such a degree, I would have had better preparations in place," he replied in half-apology.

The cool, rough, slightly grooved surface of Raziel's talons came to rest over Kain's hand. Kain closed his eyes, just for a moment, loosing his grip to let his fingers spread, palm flat over Raziel's unbeating heart. He nodded, gathering his composure. Matters could have gone far worse than they had, Kain understood. "How long has it been since you... performed the purification?" he asked.

"A few days shy of a fortnight," Raziel said quietly in reply. Sanzo had approached him soon after he and Kain had laid their plans to return ... and several nights afterward, Raziel had hunted a great deal, futilely trying to find prey that had some scrap of soul to nourish his hungers.

It was a fortnight during which Kain had not sought Raziel out -- had not made his customary forays into Raziel's territory, seeking discussion upon spellworkings or strategy. Raziel would have received Kain's missives, requesting delay, just when the elder needed to return home the most. "You..." should have sought me out, but then, Kain could hardly ask the elder to seek assistance when Kain himself would not. He met Raziel's eyes. "You have my gratitude," Kain said instead. "And my apologies."

Raziel tilted his head, not entirely sure what Kain was apologizing for. For not cleansing Sanzo himself? Raziel knew Kain stood no chance of that, especially as he was now. Kain had centuries ahead of him in which to learn the nature—and the ultimate price—of such a cure, and Raziel was not inclined to hurry the knowledge along. "It was my choice," he said quietly. "You have nothing to apologize for, Kain."

Another moment, and then Raziel stirred, turning his face to the wind and unlocking his hand from about Kain's wrist. "The destruction of the village will bring others on our trail," he said. "We should keep moving."

Kain nodded. "Best to have a destination first -- I would lay odds that the arrival of Hylden arms and the weakening of the pillars are correlated." Kain moved to withdraw his palm in order to call to hand the haft of the guardsman's spear -- he could perhaps identify the wood under this better light -- then paused, fingertips still upon Raziel's skin. The broken satchel would, at the very least, impede Raziel in flight, and if it should become caught on anything...

How was it Raziel had never learned to fold the dimensions to form a pocket? Kain had seen Vorador make use of the ability. Gypsies and brigands in this era utilized the spell extensively, to carry dozens or hundreds of throwing daggers. Few adepts could contain objects much larger than small blades -- Kain could enfold entire suits of armor. By rights, Raziel should be equally capable, at the least. "The magic to open a dimensional pocket is but a cantrip, Raziel, requiring little more than a measure of natural talent and a grasp of physics. I think t'would be quicker to learn the spell than to repair your pack," Kain said.

Raziel blinked. In truth, the pack had been the least of his worries. But if the spell was as easy to learn as Kain claimed ... why had the elder Kain never taught it to his progeny? Not for the first time, he wondered if something had happened during the passage of time until his creation, something that had turned his sire into the more secretive, seemingly omniscient elder that Raziel had come to know. Or was it simply the reversal in their fortunes that made this Kain so willing to teach his magicks?

"I am not familiar with the spell—either the ability was lost, or the cantrip kept more secret by my time," he finally said cautiously. "If you believe it is a simple thing, then rest assured I would be most eager to learn it."

Kain nodded, nails pressing a little harder against Raziel's skin as he considered the best method. In point of fact, Kain had never learned this spell, exactly. It had been a part of him, almost instinctual, since he first awoke to the night. Yet humans aplenty learned the spell as well -- surely that must mean it could be taught.

Raziel's aura was like a live thing, an electric pulse under Kain's hand. It was strange, now that Kain thought of it, that the elder had amassed so great a pool of magical energy -- and yet was comparatively unpracticed in its use. But perhaps Kain could put that inexperience to his own purposes. While he hoped that sating the Reaver's hunger would cause his own weakness to abate, Kain could not rely exclusively upon the possibility. A contingency plan of sorts, albeit a distasteful one, might be in order.

"Watch closely." The tips of Kain's sharpened nails scored into Raziel's skin -- Kain had to apply some force, as if he were trying to tear through a chainmail shirt -- just enough to wet the edges in potent black blood. Stepping back, Kain drew a symbol in the air between them, fuelling the spell with both his own power and Raziel's. The spell neatly peeled back a flap of reality, opening what looked to Kain like an irregular grayish space, floating midair and presently empty. With Raziel's power co-mingled, Kain hoped the elder could view the spell's result, as well.

Wary, Raziel watched without flinching as the minor wounds were inflicted. He had received much worse at Kain's hands, and for less reason, after all. His eyes did widen slightly as the spell took effect, snapping into place with a prickle of eldritch energy.

With unusual hesitancy, he reached out with a talon-tip, poking it at the ... not-space floating between them. "This is what you spoke of, then?" If so, it seemed Kain spoke the truth; Raziel had not felt hardly any draw on his power at all ... "Are there limitations to what it can hold?"

"Yes," said Kain, in answer to both questions, as he stepped around the sub-dimensional fold and caught Raziel's wrist. "Of greatest importance, if the portal should close, whatever spans the opening will be severed. Presently, I am holding this pocket open, but when you utilize your own, keep your fingers well clear."

"As for limitations -- never place anything living inside." Releasing Raziel's hand, Kain crouched and plucked a sprig of leaves from the growth at their feet. He stood, reached into the grayish space, and loosed the twig. It drifted downward for a moment, rapidly losing momentum before coming to a halt, floating within the closet-sized area. Kain pulled back his hand and terminated the spell, letting the aperture reseal. "Can you sense the residual magic here? Try opening the pocket."

Nodding absently, Raziel watched the pocket disappear, brow furrowed in concentration. Then, smearing talons in the blood that still adorned his chest, he attempted to redraw the symbol in the air that Kain had used. His first attempt was not quite right—he could feel it even as he made the gestures, the lack of gathering magic. On the second, he corrected himself, and once again the magic flared, and space opened between them.

Reaching in, he withdrew the twig, which was now a dried, withered husk. "I see what you mean—it is indeed inimical to life. Are there any other limitations I should beware of?"

Kain inclined his head, considering. Impressive indeed that Raziel had managed the spell so swiftly, cantrip or no. The use of a little blood to fuel the spell had been quick-witted; even if the magic could be invoked without. "There are very few other precautions -- the residual magic does not decay, and even if you do not open a portal for years, the items inside will remain untouched by time or wear." Kain shrugged a little, listing a few more minor considerations. "Objects too large for the aperture cannot be stored; any source of flame placed inside will extinguish once the pocket closes. And -- ah. Though it is easy enough to keep several dimensional containers such as this one, do not attempt to open one within the confines of another."

Raziel raised his eyebrows at that last admonition. "What would be the consequences if I did?"

"The universe collapses," Kain said, and then after a moment -- "Or the attempt discharges in under a second the entire magic reserves of a vampire afflicted with an excess of curiosity, leaving that unfortunate individual with a splitting headache for days." The corner of Kain's mouth turned up just a fraction. "One of the two." Opening a pocket of his own, Kain withdrew the length of spear he'd taken from the Hylden-armed guard.

"Ah. I shall endeavor not to do that then." Raziel paused, and then the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Unless I become inestimably bored, of course."

He waved a hand at the spear shaft. "Something about that interests you?"

"Something to forestall your boredom, perhaps." Kain dug his thumbnails into the grain of the wood, cracking the shaft lengthwise in twain. "Unless the Hylden prison dimension is fertile ground for white oak, the wood for this spear came from someplace in Nosgoth," said Kain, passing one of the wooden halves to Raziel. "And this steel cap bears casting marks; the glyph-inscribed spearhead did not." The cap was therefore poured in a large foundry, and later joined to shaft and head. The origins of the first two items could provide some suggestions as to the provenance of the latter.

Kain had a valid point, and Raziel was somewhat chastened that he had not thought of it himself. Taking the piece of wood, he scrutinized it. White oak, yes, and ... he brought up the broken end, looking closer. The broken slivers impeded him, but still, the rings were perceptible. And as he did so, there was something ...

Eyes narrowing further, he sniffed at the wood. Underneath the sweat and worn-in grime, there was something ... a tantalizing scent, barely there. For a moment it eluded his memory, then Raziel straightened as it came to him.

"The tree that this was taken from was most vigorous in growth—and on it, there is the scent of sesame oil. It looks as if our answers may lie southward, closer to the trade routes."

Kain himself could detect no scent of oil under the stink of long use in human hands -- Raziel's senses were strikingly incisive. The elder was correct about the wide rings of growth in the wood, as well; the tree had grown someplace blessed by plentiful rainfall. "Freeport, then, or Meridian." Kain knew of several large cities which maintained foundries sufficiently sophisticated to cast such fine steel, but only Freeport and Meridian were located so far south.

Kain looked to Raziel. "I would fly southeast this eve, over the Southern Lake, bypassing the Pillars by a wide margin." Several hundred miles should be sufficient, in Kain's estimation. If not -- "Set a teleportation endpoint here, before we depart."

Raziel's shoulders stiffened a bit at the Kain's suddenly-preemptory tone; but his face and the tone of his reply was carefully even. "I have no issues with your suggested direction of travel, but I would recommend a better place than this for teleportation. It would be better to find a shrine or some other place of true sanctuary, rather than a random patch of forest that is likely to be infested with vampire hunters and irate villagers for some time to come, thanks to our hunting this night." It did them little good to leap from the frying pan into the fire, after all ...

Kain nodded. "Agreed. We can seek a sanctuary along the way," if feasible, for while Kain knew of many abandoned towers and ancient caves along the route, it was impossible to say which had fallen to brigands, treasure-seekers, or Sarafan. "But set an endpoint here, for the time being." Kain would probably do so himself, though that, of course, would not address the true issue at stake. He still was not certain what the skeletal blue demon had been, but it was clear that there were beings in this era that sought Raziel's demise; perhaps as many as sought Kain's own.

Suppressing the urge to snap at Kain with great effort—it never achieved anything when his sire had been his true elder, and he doubted that would change now—Raziel simply nodded. Some arguments were better saved for things of greater importance.

Setting the sigil for teleportation was almost second nature by now, after his practice in Haven. The torn satchel was placed into the holding spell before Raziel closed it, though not without a small amount of trepidation—he had no idea if he would be able to access it quickly enough for his purposes, but it was still marginally better than trying to affix the broken straps to his baldric. After doing so, he nodded to Kain, unfolded his wings, and leaped into the air.

Kain relocated his own teleportation endpoint while he waited. He stood a moment before following Raziel into the air -- it was a pleasure to watch those wings unfold like butterfly-blades, to watch Raziel make an effortless vertical jump many stories skyward. Would he, Kain, ever gain such strength, to leap so far? And he'd neglected to ask if Raziel had been winged when he'd been human -- if not, then would Kain also possess wings one day? Kain fixed the familiar feel of that dark, electric aura in his mind, then let himself dissolve into hundreds of small bats, and followed.

It was immediately obvious that something was amiss.

The bats were more difficult to control, more likely to wander or grow distracted. Worse, they seemed to lack both strength and speed. Kain left the turbulent open skies to Raziel, sweeping low across the landscape instead, taking advantage of the marginally denser air and more frequent updrafts near the surface.


	2. Chapter 2

Kain's troubles had not gone unnoticed by Raziel. Admittedly, it was hard to gauge the mood of a flock of bats, but ... they did not seem to track as well as Raziel was used to, and upon occasion seemed to lose a certain amount of direction. So much so that he had been forced to circle upon a thermal, watching with a certain amount of concern, until they had reoriented themselves back towards the south. Not for the first time, Raziel wished he had a way in which to communicate with Kain while the younger vampire was in this form.

Still, they made far more progress then they ever would have afoot. Raziel judged they had gone almost a hundred leagues before the sky had begun to lighten, and the terrain below them had changed a great deal, the air warming and redolent of greenery. Spying the crumbled remains of a fortress in the distance, on the shores of a lake, he made for it. Better to conceal themselves for the day, and wait for nightfall once more. Especially if they were in Hylden territory.

Circling briefly, Raziel saw no signs of habitation. He glided to the top of a vine-strewn wall, landing there with finicky precision, and looked about as he waited for Kain to join him.

As the sky lightened, Kain's precarious grasp on his batform began to fade. He could not be certain where they were, for while Kain could normally make overall sense of the bats' echolocative senses, it now seemed like little more than a cacophony of noise in the little winged beasts' sensitive ears. With a distant kind of relief, Kain realized that Raziel was descending. Locking onto the elder's aura -- somehow bright and black together -- Kain followed.

Perhaps a little too closely. Kain had been working a very, very great deal on better managing his landings, and had largely succeeded. This time, however, the niceties of fine technique escaped him. Small, furred bodies pelted the crumbling rooftop -- and Raziel. Hurriedly, Kain set to drawing the bulk of the little forms up into solid flesh and bone.

To say Raziel was surprised to be pelted with small, clinging furry forms was an understatement. Reflexively he caught the couple that tumbled down in front of him, cradling them carefully in his opened hands. Little squashed faces with beady blind eyes squinted up at him, heartbeats vibrating against his palm—then they began trying to climb out and away, towards the rest of the mass that was coalescing slowly and shakily into Kain's familiar form.

Frowning, Raziel placed them at the edge of the mass and stepped away, not wishing to interfere with Kain's magic. Once it was complete, however, he could not keep silent any longer. "Kain—is there something wrong?"

Reforming vastly improved Kain's concentration and organization of thought -- perhaps not surprising, given the number of bodies into which his consciousness had been split. Even still, Raziel's voice from behind came as a surprise. Kain froze, shoulders tense, and turned towards the elder.

They were, he saw, atop the third level of an ancient fortress, located on the northern shore of the Southern lake -- the lake's original discoverers had evidently not been burdened by a sense of imagination. It was more rightly a sea in any case, for the water was brackish, and the lake was so large it had tides of its own, albeit very small ones.

"No. I am merely..." started Kain, as his eyes fell to a lump at the edge of Raziel's pauldron. He reached out to pry off the small bat, which was attempting to sink tiny little fangs into Raziel's flesh and failing miserably at the task. Small membranous wings flailed as Kain gathered it into his hands; the bat clung tenaciously to Raziel's armor with grasping little paws. "...hungry." Kain had fed well less than six hours before; he should not have needed more blood for perhaps a day. But whatever poison Haven had inflicted, it drained his reserves of power quickly, and Kain was indeed ravenous. As to what else was wrong, if anything -- Kain could not say.

Raziel's eyes narrowed, but he took the explanation at face value, at least for the moment. His mouth quirked in amusement as Kain removed another, previously unnoticed bat from his shoulder. "I saw no villages within easy travel of here, but I have blood glyphs, should you require them," he offered. Or if needs be, his own blood, though he preferred to keep that in reserve.

Squeaking angrily, the bat Kain had dragged off the elder up attempted to launch itself back at Raziel, no doubt intending to chew upon him once more. Kain quickly caught the beast and absorbed it into his larger mass -- clearly this one had gotten more than its fair share of acrimony when Kain's consciousness had been divided... though Kain had to admit that the elder did indeed smell exquisite. Delicious.

It was well that Raziel had been watching for villages along the way; Kain had not been in any condition to notice any. "Blood glyphs should not be necessary, though I thank you for the offer," he said, stalking towards the crumbling, crenulated edge of the rooftop. "Places such as this attract brigands and treasure-seekers aplenty." It was a superb choice for just that reason; Kain would be surprised indeed if there were not at least a few humans nearby, though as he could smell no offal or strong human stink about the place, there were probably not many in this particular ruin.

Not entirely mollified, but willing to let the topic be for the moment, Raziel followed. The fortress obviously had not been inhabited in some time, and the scent of dust and mold and the small creeping animal- and plant-life that had invaded it in the absence of human occupation was pervasive. Raziel's sharp eyes picked out remnant traces of fire on the ancient stones. It seemed this place had suffered more than a few battles of its own.

The crumbling wall-edge led them an open doorway in a sentry tower, with stone steps leading down into the darkness. Raziel paused there, lifting his head and casting out for sound or scent of their prey. The foreign surroundings and the heavy stone around them defeated his attempts, however.

Ignoring the open doorway, Kain closed his hands over the edge of the stonework, looking out over the surroundings. The slope atop which the fortress stood ended in a broad expanse of glittering, dark gray beach. The fortress probably had its own well, but... ah, there, further along the beach was a depression where a stream ended its travels to the larger body of water. Kain scanned along the route of the stream, alert for any movement in the predawn light.

The glow of coals caught his eyes first, from the shadows of lush trees that sheltered the edge of the beach, then the glint of light off a blade. Not brigands, most like, but adventurers of one ilk or another, awaiting daybreak to confront whatever beasts might have taken residence within the fortress. "Raziel," Kain grated, motioning.

Raziel moved over to his side, and soon spotted them himself. "I see them." He gave Kain a sidelong glance. "The sun will be up soon ... we will need to move quickly."

Kain's nails dug hard into the stonework. The warning did not even register. He vaulted over the edge, letting himself fall some ten meters, and hit the ground hard... on all four paws. The swift form of a massive wolf was far easier to control than were multitudinous bats, and four long limbs were fleeter than human legs. Kain shook out his thick black fur and broke into a run, muscles rippling under his hide.

The guise of the wolf bore its own kind of hunger and rage. Tall grasses and shrubs streaked by and then Kain broke onto the beach, wide paws finding sure grip even on the dry sand. The small encampment was a half mile away or more; Kain covered the distance in minutes. Four bedrolls were laid out, but only one human was awake -- a man in mismatched chain- and scalemail, who sat near the embers of a small fire, idly drawing a whetstone across his sword.

Surprised by Kain's impetuous action, Raziel found the wolf had gained a respectable lead before he overcame his surprise and dropped over the wall after it. Fast as Raziel was, he'd never catch up with Kain's wolf-form on just his own two legs. He unfolded his wings, catching the updraft from his fall and letting it buoy him upward, before turning it into a low, fast glide.

Under normal circumstances, he would have circled around, and approached the small camp from a more concealed direction. But the wolf was charging directly in, with none of the finesse Raziel knew his sire possessed, and he could do nothing but follow and attempt to protect his sire's back.

A glint of gold in the gloom and the harsh rustle of the dry blade-grass were the watchman's only warnings. He had an instant to cry the alarm when a wolf, thrice the size of any natural canine, burst into view. Kain leapt over the firepit, massive paws coming down on the human's chest. The watchman tumbled over backwards, screaming as Kain's jaws closed on his forearm, cleanly snapping the fragile bones.

 _A sloppy kill._ Raziel's concern grew as he saw the wolf leap upon the sentry and savage him. Kain seemed unconcerned with stifling the man's cries, and Raziel cursed under his breath as the rest of the camp roused with shocked and angry cries of their own.

"Bloody hell ..." There was a mage among them, his hands glowing red as he hastily readied a spell. His companions were still searching for their weapons, and Raziel decided to take out the most imminent threat. Folding his wings, he dropped into a steep dive. The man shouted, spotting him—but could not dodge aside as Raziel unsheathed his blade, driving it through the mage's chest. The impact knocked the man down to the ground, and drove the blade deep into the soil. Raziel left it there, and rose to his feet snarling, looking for the next threat.

The sentry was left to writhe on the ground, the cartilage of his throat crushed and his sword-arm shattered. Kain would have liked nothing better than to finish the kill, but there was shouting behind him. The enormous wolf twisted around, an arrow thunking into his hide as Kain forced himself through the swift transformation back to human form. The next arrow clattered off the thickness of Kain's breastplate.

Kain flung both hands out, hissing at the tearing pain from the arrow lodged in his shoulder, and gathered a thick pulse of magic. The stunning cone of force rippled through the air, catching both remaining humans. The bowman was blasted from his feet, while the heavily muscled man in platemail staggered back, clutching his head.

The archer was down, unconscious. Taking advantage of the swordsman's daze, Raziel lunged forward, hitting the man from behind and disarming him with unnatural strength. The man's broadsword was cast away, out of reach, as Raziel held him pinned, talons at his throat, and turned his eyes to Kain. Waiting to see what the younger vampire would do.

Kain nodded briefly to Raziel, assuming the elder meant to take his time with his meal. Hurriedly, lest the sentry should die and the blood cool, Kain reached out and called the living blood to him. The fluid ripped free of the dying man, busting from every pore and jetting across the distance to funnel down Kain's throat. The sweetness of new strength flooded through his limbs. Kain wiped the back of a gauntlet across his mouth -- a shame there'd been no time to properly enjoy the savor of the blood, -- then grasped the shaft of the arrow that protruded from his shoulder. With a soft hiss, Kain dragged it free of his flesh and flung the offending projectile away.

"You intend to keep that one a while?" Kain queried, unslinging the Reaver from his back. The mage was dead, or very nearly so; Raziel's blade had staked him to the ground. Still, if the soul had not yet fled... the Reaver sang as he thrust it through the pierced man's throat.

Raziel's captive had shaken off his daze. His countenance was wracked with terror, and his throat was just the slightest bit bloodied where murderous talons pressed close. But as Raziel's attention remained on Kain, his hand moved subtly, fingers dipping into a pouch around his waist.

Shaking his head in answer to Kain's question, Raziel said, "I have no real hunger at the moment. He is yours, if you—" His attention snapped back to his victim as he felt the man move—but not in time to prevent the swordsman's sudden movement. The man's hand snapped out—and flays sang as they took to the air.

Cursing himself for his inattention, Raziel flung himself to one side, knowing it was already too late. One flay shot around in a tight arc, gouging a great hunk of flesh out his arm and shoulder. The other, flung further, zeroed in on its designated target with a buzzing whine.

The small, versatile flay device was intended for speed; they were difficult to dodge and would continue to ricochet several times even if the target managed to get out of the way. Kain did not even try, moved only enough to take the brunt of the damage on his breastplate. The brutal little shard managed to penetrate even the wraith armor, but its momentum was lost, and it did little enough damage. And in that brief moment, Kain locked magic onto the human, now scrambling to his feet, and tore the man's mind from him.

The human collapsed back to its knees, face and body slack. Kain darted towards Raziel with a curse, hand reaching out to grip the pauldron opposite the gaping wound.

Teeth bared in a grimace, Raziel struggled up to his knees, one arm limp. His skin was armored enough that the flay had not been able to inflict lethal damage, as it no doubt would have if he were human—but the glancing blow had done enough, rending flesh all the way to the bone. The wounds were healing, tissue connecting across the gaping gash, but not even he could heal something this severe instantly.

Still, it was only an arm. Raziel silently gave thanks the flay had not hit something more vulnerable—like his wings—and reached out to steady himself against Kain's solid presence, climbing to his feet. "You are all right?" he asked, looking for concealed wounds beneath the wraith armor.

The wraith armor's surface had quickly sealed over, even if the gashes beneath would take longer. Raziel's wound, however... rivulets of thick black blood traced the whole of his arm. The exposed bone gleamed obsidian, and then purple-black muscle began to sheet over, obscuring the depth of the wound. Such deep injuries could be serious for Kain, could take him hours or days to heal, and Raziel was not only lucid, but trying to stand....

Kain locked his arm under Raziel's uninjured one, trying to take as much of the elder's weight as he could without jarring that terrible injury. Ignoring the question, Kain twisted around. "Come here," he snarled, and the human stumbled to its feet. Kain's free hand shot out, fisting in the man's hair. Kain dragged the human close and bent him over backwards, barring the length of the warrior's bloodied throat. "Drink, Raziel," he ordered.

Raziel didn't argue. The rapid healing had consumed some of his reserves, and the resultant Hunger was making itself known. Letting go of Kain's shoulder, Raziel grasped the human's arm with his good hand and sank his fangs into the man's throat without hesitation, drinking deep. The man did not struggle, mindless has he now was, and Raziel closed his eyes in bliss as hot, red life flowed over his tongue and assuaged his thirst.

Kain watched closely. With each swallow Raziel seemed to stand a little stronger, until Kain could release the human to his grasp. Healing was more rapid now, and soon raw pink skin began to blossom over the muscle, and the seep of near-black blood ebbed and then ceased. Kain turned away only long enough to shred the mind of the still-unconscious man, ensuring that he would not pose the same threat as had his brother-in-arms.

Kain waited until Raziel was finished, the human emptied and dropped. Then, stepping over the corpse, Kain grasped the back of Raziel's neck and kissed, hard, over those bloodied lips.

Instinct deeper than bone or blood had Raziel responding without thought, opening his mouth and returning the kiss with a fierce one of his own. The receding sharp ache in his arm was forgotten, a thing without importance next to Kain's demands, and the fury and fear of the short-lived battle spurred on a new kind of hunger.

Growling low in his throat, Raziel's hands closed over Kain's hips as he moved closer.

Kain snarled into Raziel's mouth as he kissed, one hand gripping in fierce possession at the elder's waist, claws drawing bloodied scores through the leather. So close, so damnably close that flay had come to Raziel's throat or face, and... Kain dragged Raziel back, stepping over the emptied corpse, to a cleaner stretch of sand. His hand at the back of Raziel's neck slid to thick, soft black hair, and fisted, tilting Raziel's head back. Breaking the kiss, Kain ducked his head to Raziel's throat with a soft groan, kissing and then nipping down the strong column of pale skin. Kain bit at the base of Raziel's throat, a brief and shallow wound, and tried to drag them both to their knees.

Kain's grip had none of the heavy and immutable strength Raziel was familiar with, but still he yielded to his sire's touch, sinking obediently downward, throat exposed and submissive. There was a spark of chagrin, of defiance, in it—to defer to someone so young!—but Raziel, at least, knew the truth of his submission, even if Kain did not.

"Kain," he breathed, supplication and demand all in one. His hands lifted, palms skimming over the ebon surface of the wraith armor, talons catching lightly upon the grooves and joins.

This, like the Reaver, was a gift.

"Raziel..." Lost in a strange kind of furious apprehension, Kain could not bring himself to acknowledge it, or even really care -- he had what he wanted most, what he needed, and it could have been lost to him -- the emotions were too intense to vocalize save in a rumbling growl, the brutal press of claws into skin. Kain scraped his fangs down to Raziel's shoulder, was impeded by the heavy pauldron. He reached for the hidden clasps, unbuckled them as swiftly as he could without damaging the armor. The pieces came away, and Kain tossed them aside, the bronze-gold metal and crimson cape vivid against the soft gray sand. Kain's hands went to the buckles of his own armor even as he bent his head to Raziel's bared shoulder, kissing, nipping, to the edge of what had so recently been a grievous wound.

Raziel hissed a little in pain—while the flesh had mended over on the surface, some of the underlying damage was still there, still healing. But he did not try and move away, or prevent Kain's touch; instead his hands followed Kain's, lifting and tugging as he helped the younger vampire divest himself of his armor, letting it fall in pieces to the sand. Skin against skin, that was what Raziel needed, sight and scent and Kain's possessive touch. Groaning, he rolled his hips upward, rubbing his burgeoning cock wantonly against the younger vampire, nipping fiercely at each new measure of milk-white skin exposed through their efforts.

Kain gasped softly at the brush of fangs against his body. He gripped Raziel's forearm, laving with broad, careful sweeps of his tongue across the quickly-paling skin over the wound. The armor beneath the dermis was reforming; Kain could see it, could feel the way it slowly pressed a faint tracing of veins closer to the surface, marbling Raziel's high-white skin with dusky black once more.

At last, certain that the repair was progressing well, Kain started on the laces of Raziel's breeches, even as Raziel's own claws stripped away his greaves. The tips of his fingers touched rising flesh, and Kain reached to the small of Raziel's back, then up a little, finding the place where the wings joined. Growling softly, stroking both places, Kain moved closer, urging Raziel onto his back in the sand.

Bucking upward as those strong fingers wrapped around his cock and the base of his wings, Raziel growled a bit in discomfort as he was forced backward, his wings pinched under the pressure of their combined weight. Kain could not truly force his capitulation, but it hardly seemed to matter in the haze of his need. His booted feet dug into the soft sand, scrabbling for purchase as he arched, taloned hands clutching at Kain's hips, his back, whatever portion he could reach. His fangs scraped against the bony ridge of one collarbone, and he licked at the hollow of that throat, listening to the slow, deliberate thump of Janos' heart, living within Kain's flesh.

"Such a livewire thing you are," Kain breathed, setting a hand to the sand and rising up, pressing himself into Raziel's fangs as he did so that they scored shallow wounds. Blood welled, a few drops dripping from his skin, falling to spatter at the base of Raziel's throat, the purple-red vivid on platinum-white, marbled skin. "Born to battle, to the hunt, such pride and strength and nobility -- ah, Raziel!"

A few more trails of blood traced down Kain's back and sides, drawn by the taloned hands clutching at his bared skin. Kain noticed not at all -- he ground his hips hard into that arcing body. One hand supported his weight, the other lay trapped between Raziel's back and the sand, the pads of his fingers pressing and kneading incessantly against that wonderful, sensitive place.

At last rubbing through leather was no longer sufficient Kain had to... had to have... he began at Raziel's throat, kissing, licking, smearing his own blood. Kain bit at one dusky nipple, then moved lower, fangs scraping to muscled belly and the delicate indent of Raziel's navel. He nosed aside the leather front of Raziel's breeches, the laces already loosened. "Beautiful killer," Kain murmured, and then opened for the head of Raziel's cock.

"Unnh!" Raziel could not suppress a cry as Kain's mouth closed over him. For his sire to lower himself so was a rarity to be prized, just as much as the warm slick heat around his engorged flesh, the cool, dangerous slide of fangs against the side of his cock. He licked at a rivulet of crimson on his own flesh, shuddering at the taste as it sparked on his tongue.

Unable to reach Kain in any other way, he wound talons through blood-spattered silver strands of hair, small hitched breaths signalling each new sensation as it prickled over his skin. Soon, his universe consisted only of the slow, wet slide of Kain's tongue on his flesh, the caress of lips and talon-tipped fingers.

The taste of the slickness that gathered at the tip of Raziel's cock was ambrosial, laced with the same power that thrummed in his blood. Those beautiful, murderous talons fisted in Kain's hair moved slightly, twitching whenever Kain found a favored place, and Kain made full use of the subtle guidance. He rumbled softly, tongue swirling languidly around the crown, pressing back the skin to reach the most sensitive places of the corona, flicking over the exquisitely tender place just where the thick artery met the head. His fingers traced the joint of Raziel's wings, lightly under the delicate tendons, pressing fingertips firmly between the muscles, rolling grains of sand against the suede-soft skin.

Balancing himself carefully on his knees even as he swallowed Raziel's cock deeper, Kain reached down to one of Raziel's boots and started on the buckles.

Raziel groaned, low in his throat, sharp-edged toes curling as Kain lapped at him, engulfed him in hot, slick heat that never seemed to end. It's too good, too much, and his body keeps trying to buck upward, to thrust into that heat, only to be held down by Kain's strength and the lingering remnants of his own restraint. He breathed profanities, prayers, half-hitched pleading words as he felt first one boot, then the other be unbuckled and fall away, leaving him armored only by his skin. No protection at all, really, against Kain's touch.

Slow suction, the slide of tongue against his cock, the kiss of the cool night air whenever Kain withdrew; Raziel writhed, opening himself the slow, intimate touch against his wings, no longer able to think of contingencies, of the necessity of protecting himself against the future that Kain represented.

Raziel's breeches took some time to remove, and that was well indeed for Kain, for each of the soft, gasping cries that fell from Raziel's lips went straight to his core -- unbelievably arousing. At last the leather peeled away, and lithely, Kain moved between Raziel's spread thighs, tongue drawing whorls and sigils over the breadth of Raziel's beautiful, thick cock. Once settled, Kain swallowed the length deeply and sucked hard, throat rippling as he swallowed around the shaft.

Kain was drew his hand out from under Raziel's back and wrapped his fingers around Raziel's testicles as he felt them beginning to draw up, giving them a careful, cruel little squeeze, forestalling orgasm even as he maintained suction. Kain drew his mouth off Raziel's cock slowly, maintaining a tight seal, tongue lashing and flicking against the length as he backed off. One final kiss to the tip of the slick cock, and Kain released Raziel's testicles and wrapped his hands under the base of the elder's thighs to tilt his hips up. And without warning or teasing, thrust his tongue deep into Raziel's ass.

Raziel arched off the ground with a hoarse cry. "Nng—Kain!" The pain caused by Kain's tight grip on his balls was gone, forgotten in an instant by this new intrusion, and Raziel released his grip on the younger vampire's head just barely in time. Instead the convulsive clench of his talons dug into the ground, gouging great rents into the sandy soil and marsh grass, as he bucked and gasped at the wanton pleasure of that moist, prying touch into his ass.

The sand beneath them both, the lap of water against the shore and the distant cry of a bird—it was all distant, as unimportant as the corpses cooling in the ruins of the humans' camp. His cock throbbed, flushed red and aching as it bobbed in the air. Kain's touches were maddening, driving him closer to the precipice with every lap and twist of his tongue, and Raziel felt the last shreds of his control slipping through his grasp. "K-Kain ... mnh, too close ..." he panted out, not sure what he was saying.

Kain found the firm little knot of nerves, deep inside, with the tip of his tongue. He flicked hard for a few moments before Raziel's panted words registered. With a tight gasp, Kain withdrew, wrapping his hand once more around Raziel's testicles, withholding the rise to completion just in time. "Ah, Raziel -- such a magnificent, beautiful creature. Wanton, needing, wondrously pleasing..." Kain kissed over the tip of Raziel's cock once more, slicking lips and tongue over the head as he opened slightly, brushing fangs against the exquisitely delicate flesh. He drew the magical sigil with his tongue, just there, and reached out, retrieving a small, wide, somewhat stretchy band from thin air.

"I do believe... I shall keep you like this for a time," Kain murmured, lips moving against the head of Raziel's cock. He moved a little, ducked down further to the crease of Raziel's groin, where hip met thigh, and bit hard into that tender skin. His still-short fangs left shallow wounds that vanished in moments, but the bright jolt of pain forced the press of orgasm to recede just a little, giving Kain the moment he needed to slip one of Raziel's balls, then the other, through the tight band. Kain settled the restraint carefully, making certain nothing was pinched unduly. With a soft and rumbling laugh, Kain lapped lightly across Raziel's testicles, then cupped his hands beneath Raziel's thighs and worked his tongue through the tight little opening once more.

Pleasure warred with frustration—Raziel hadn't thought before he had warned Kain of his impending orgasm, had just done it, with the obedience and submission that his sire had instilled in him over the centuries. But now that he had, he found he had forgotten just to what lengths Kain could and would take his pleasure—all the many and varied shades of pain and pleasure that could be wrung loose from Raziel's body before Kain finally sated himself. The binding around his balls was barely the least of what could be done—and Raziel both yearned and feared for what else might be in store.

Still, there was no thought of turning away, of using his greater strength against the younger vampire. Raziel's expression was a drawn mask, eyes a hazy gold, but they never left Kain's form, watching as he was opened, penetrated, thighs spread wide and wanton. His cock throbbed as Kain's tongue squirmed further into him, forcing out little pants of arousal.

Kain thrust deeply a few more moments, but the need invoked by Raziel's wordless voice built like a fire in the back of his brain, and finally it grew too great, too compelling. Kain worked at the laces of his breeches as he moved up, tonguing Raziel's swelling balls first lightly, then a little harder, then moving to lap his way up Raziel's cock, tracing the thick artery.

At last the front of his breeches gave way, and Kain drew himself free of their confinement. He lapped thick saliva into the palm of his own hand and stroked over, slicking himself -- "Just enough to get it in, Raziel," Kain murmured in dark promise, moving over to cover Raziel's body, shading him from the slowly brightening sky. "You do not want more than that, do you? Ah, perfect..." Supporting his weight with one hand, Kain kissed at the base of Raziel's throat, moved to one nipple and bit there, delicately, with flat incisors. Grasping himself in his other hand, Kain brought the tip of himself to Raziel's slightly-stretched opening, teasing the little ring of muscle, spreading thick precome. And then began, very slowly, to force the head of his cock inside.

Gasping, Raziel arched into it, his body taut and shivering finely as a drawn bow as Kain's cock breached his entrance, pushing inevitably inside. It did not matter how often it had been, or how short a time between the times Kain had laid claim—each time was immediate, real, an outward mark of Kain's claim that Raziel craved as fervently as he denied the one on his soul.

It hurt—saliva was a poor lubricant, and Kain's tongue had hardly prepared him for thickness of a cock—and he could not bring himself to care. He felt the delicate skin of his ass split, droplets of blood adorning Kain and himself alike even as his entrance stretched to accommodate the girth of Kain's erection. One hand fumbled for purchase, then found it, holding tight to the younger vampire with bruising strength as Raziel gasped, forced open to the slow inevitable possession, Kain's mouth at his throat, at his chest.

Penetration was slow, brutal. Kain had to pause a few times, withdraw slightly, press back in, the purchase of his knees and boots slipping in the fine-grained sand. A hitching rumble built in his chest, until he was fully impaled, as deep as possible within the clenching warmth. "So sweet, the way you take it...." Kain panted shallowly for breath he did not need, struggling for control.

The talons against his back held him tight to Raziel's chest, and Kain lapped across the peak of one nipple and then bit again, this time drawing shallow furrows with his fangs, as he sinuously wrapped one of his legs around Raziel's. The elder's grip was bruising, insistent, and Kain relished the strength in that arm -- so recently and so terribly wounded. Pressing a palm flat into the sand, Kain made full use of that strength, lifting both their bodies and rolling them over, so that Raziel lay across his chest, still impaled. "Move for me, Raziel," Kain crooned, dragging his claws up Raziel's sides, urging the other to sit up upon the cock that pierced him.

The sudden shift of their positions would have been enough to send Raziel over the edge, if the binding around his balls had not prevented it. As it was, he shuddered at the slide of the heavy cock within him as it shifted along within them, then sank even deeper under the press of his own weight. Raziel gasped, his hands flying to clasp Kain's forearms as his wings flared, mantling instinctively.

For a moment he could not heed Kain's command as he adjusted to the new position. Then, as the initial frisson of pleasure-pain subsided, he moved; slowly, deliberately, rocking forwards and back, tightening internal muscles around the rod that impaled him and shuddering as each movement sent new waves of sensation up his spine.

Kain's hands on the elder's shoulder and hip urged him upright, until Raziel knelt over Kain's hips and Kain could thrust a little upwards to meet each downward glide. Like this, Kain had uncontested access to Raziel's bound organs. Eyes fixed on Raziel's face, Kain cupped the swollen testicles, ever so gently, just brushing with the pads of his fingers. He released them, moved to Raziel's cock, stroked there, more firmly. As the pad of his thumb swept through the opalescent liquid seeping from the tip, Kain licked across the fingers of his free hand. He sat up enough to reach around and trace his wet fingers over the join of Raziel's wings, still stroking the elder's cock, as Raziel impaled himself again and again.

Every knowing ripple of muscle inside was shudderingly blissful. Kain would not be able to hold on like this, not for long, but oh -- the sight of Raziel, like this, red- and gold-wrought sky and dark beach behind him, was breathtakingly... "Beautiful," Kain murmured.

Raziel opened his eyes, having not even realized they were closed. Looking down at Kain, now prone, silver strands of hair tangled on the sand, his skin moonlight-pale against Raziel's own ivory ... how long had it been since he'd seen his sire this way? An eternity, it seemed .... He smoothed his palms over Kain's chest, talons arched and scratching just enough to draw traces of blood, dark crimson against the white canvas of Kain's skin.

"So ... strange," he murmured, words as broken as his thoughts. He lifted himself again, gave a shuddering gasp as Kain thrust heavily upwards, catching him as he fell, hands at his back. "To—see you like this. Here ... it should feel wrong. But it isn't ..."

"No..." Kain murmured, raggedly. "You'll always... ah!" he was forced to bring his hand from Raziel's cock to his hip, just to have something to grip, something to sink his nails into. Delicate technique at the base of Raziel's wings was forgotten; Kain pressed his fingers there hard, scraping a little, just needing.... "Always belong with me," Kain gasped, not certain whether it was a command or a statement, not caring.

One of Raziel's heavy talons caught upon his nipple, and it was too much, he couldn't... couldn't wait. Kain worked a finger beneath the tight band around Razin's testicles, as carefully as he could, and then slit through with his thumbnail, slicing shallowly into the finger beneath. The band fell away.

Raziel had been too close to the edge for too long—he couldn't last. The binding around his balls loosened, and he shoved himself downward with a guttural cry, grinding down hard. His whole body spasmed, every muscle seizing in an eternal instant as pleasure wracked him and he came.

"Y-yes!" Affirmation and absolution intertwined in one word as Raziel as he bucked against Kain's hands, his aching cock spurting over Kain's fingers. The long-delayed orgasm almost hurt, and he welcomed it--welcomed the sharp sting of pain from Kain's hands at his wings, too far gone to feel any fear.

Gasping with the force of Raziel's exquisite cry, Kain emptied himself into the tightness, muscles shuddering under his skin with the tension, back arching. Each small motion of Raziel's broad-mantled wings stirred the air across his body, as if he were being stroked by a thousand delicate touches, counterpoint to the massive strength of Raziel's clenching talons. With a wrenching shout of his own, Kain surged up just a little more, fangs finding Raziel's shoulder and sinking in shallowly. Heat and power and blessed darkness -- bliss washed his vision away, washed _self_ away, left him quaking with the golden aftershocks of both Raziel's release and his own.

One hand still cupping the place where Raziel's wings joined his back, the other reached to cradle the back of the elder's head, pressing that razor-fanged mouth to his own shoulder.

Still shuddering, Raziel bit down out of instinct more than hunger, fangs piercing cleanly through the pale skin. The sharp pain of Kain's own bite was nothing, inconsequential against the taste of his sire's blood, the draw of his mouth and the scorching heat of his seed. They were locked together, interwined as an ouroboros, devouring each other whole, taking everything there was to give.

It was ... a unique and heady kind of heaven, and Raziel held on to it, to Kain, fiercely. Wanting it to last ....

It seemed that time itself hung still, as if the world had been caught in the web woven by each slow swallow of bliss. Pleasure roared through every fibre of his being, only heightened by the pain of fangs and talons and the sheer tightness of Raziel's body.

But time did pass. The red in the sky faded through orange and pink, and then, bright white. Through so much sensation, the feel of dawn breaking was a distant thing, but the weakness the day brought crept over Kain's trembling muscles, and at last he was forced to fall back, tight grasp dragging Raziel with him as he settled into the sand.

Sounds of awakening creatures began to fill the air. As if daylight had called them from the forest, first one jewel-feathered sabrewing, then three, then more darted overhead, tiny wings humming as they zipped out over the lake. Most birds, like most animals, avoided vampires. But sabrewings were as assertive as birds of prey -- downright bellicose -- and they paid the undead very little heed. Some few of the insect-sized birds found Raziel's red cloak splayed out over the dark sand and hovered there, poking at it hopefully with their long, slender beaks, before darting away south with their brethren.

At long last, Kain disengaged his fangs, lapping over the wound. "Raziel," he murmured, voice little but an exhaustion- and pleasure-ragged whisper.

Raziel had ceased to draw blood from the younger vampire, knowing it would not benefit either of them to drain Kain dry—but he had not withdrawn entirely, still lapping at the small wound even as it healed. " ...Kain," Raziel murmured, lips against the skin of his shoulder. His wings were not large enough to envelop them both, but ... fighting his own lassitude, he arched them as best he could, sheltering Kain's face and torso from the punishing glare of the rising sun.

Beyond that, he did not move. He did not wish to lose the feel of Kain within him, the pleasurable ache of well-abused muscles. Instead he drew in a deep breath, then another—trying to absorb the scent, the presence of his sire, almost as if he had become a fledgling again himself.

The light filtering through the soft membrane of Raziel's wings was amber, and cool. Kain found just energy enough to stroke erratically, lightly, over the delicate flesh he'd bruised, there at the base of Raziel's wings, perhaps unconsciously trying to soothe the lingering pain, perhaps in silent thanks. Resting upon Kain's chest, Raziel's slight physical weight was as comfortable as the press of his magnificent, black-electric aura.

Each thought seemed to take ages to coagulate. But it seemed to some part of Kain... as if he might at last have found someplace safe enough. To sleep. The bare skin of his arms stung a little in the sunlight, but the discomfort was inconsequentially minor. One last, lingering lap across Raziel's shoulder -- the wounds had long since vanished, -- and Kain felt his eyes drift shut.

The sun rose, and Raziel could feel Kain's grip grow more lax. Concerned, he lifted himself slightly—and a frisson of apprehension trickled down his spine as he realized that Kain was ... very near sleep. In the open. Near the bodies of his kills, and under only the dubious shade of Raziel's wings .... That was beyond foolish—it was almost suicidal, especially in the era that they now resided in.

"Kain," he said, more urgently this time, sitting upright. Still doing his best to shade the younger vampire from the sun, even as he skimmed his hands over the pale flesh, looking for unseen injuries, poison darts. It could not be illness—vampires did not sicken. Unless ... a sudden suspicion struck him. Could it be—so soon?

"Kain—you must wake," Raziel repeated sternly, instilling authority in his voice as he shook one shoulder.

The talons skimming his body evoked very little response, just faint twitching as Kain's muscles jumped under the skin. Raziel's summary command produced a soft growl in reply, and Kain's eyes slit open -- he was perfectly comfortable as he was. His attempt to snap a reply, however, emerged as a few dry-mouthed words -- "Raziel..." and "...vexing."

A particularly vigorous shake moved their bodies enough to expose Kain's groin, now quite soft, to the open air -- and the bright morning sun -- and that did induce a reaction. "Damned!" Kain hissed, now thoroughly aggrieved, reaching to tuck himself back into his breeches and struggling to sit up. The simple movement was strikingly difficult.

Raziel did not miss the fumbling movements, the uncharacteristic clumsiness. His suspicions growing, he did his best to shield Kain from the sun as much as possible without actually hovering, grabbing shoulder-cape and scattered pieces of armor as he did so. He was long past the time when sunlight did anything more than irritate him, and so he kept his wings unfurled, Kain in their shadow.

There were questions that needed to be asked—but first, they needed to be someplace safer. "We need to take shelter, Kain—back at the fortress," he said, leaving little room for argument, no matter how strange it was to be dictating to his sire.

Ill-tempered at being shaken from his drowse, Kain lifted his head, glanced around, squinting against the glare. Could Raziel detect a menace he could not? Now that the sun had risen, the dark beach was revealed to be of quartz and volcanic sand -- every grain seemed to glitter. Possessively, a sabrewing attempted to defend Raziel's cloak against the elder vampire, darting and buzzing with aggression inverse to its diminutive size as Raziel retrieved his clothing.

Had Kain nearly... nearly fallen asleep out here? Sand clung to his body -- Kain set to brushing it off as he stood and collected his armor, focusing on keeping the movements steady and adroit. Before he spoke, Kain took a moment to adjust his posture, straightening his back, as if drawing on a mantle of self-assurance. "Very well." Kain said, addressing Raziel, then glanced over the bodies scattered over the beach. "Arise. Follow me," he ordered. The archer had regained consciousness sometime in the last hour, but lacking instruction, the man had simply lain where he'd fallen, glassy-eyed. Now, the human staggered to his feet.

Carrying his armor, Kain started back to the ruined fortress, keeping to the shade of the treeline. Raziel walked beside him -- blood-spattered and unconcernedly nude, Kain noted with appreciation. And his arm... "You have entirely healed?" Kain asked. The human followed some steps behind.

"Yes," Raziel affirmed, flexing his arm in illustration. Between the human's blood and the little he had taken from Kain, no trace of the wound remained. Only a lingering ache, which would be gone by the time the sun set. He looked sidelong at Kain, but held his tongue until they had entered the shadows of the keep.

Once they had found a place to their liking—one of the few that had more roof and walls then holes, yet defensible enough to make him feel better, Raziel turned to Kain once more, frowning in concern. "Kain ... you have been acting strangely. What is wrong?" He had his suspicions ... but he could not know for sure. Not unless Kain's own words confirmed them.

Kain left the human he'd acquired just within the entrance to the keep, with the sole command 'guard'. Zombie-like, the human would stand until it perished of thirst, if Kain did nothing else. The chamber Raziel found was quiet and relatively safe, though Kain could scent that beasts of strange ilk either recently inhabited the deeper ruins, or still did.

Kain blew out a soft breath and settled his armor to the floor. He'd have to rinse the sand away before donning the armor -- it was well that he now carried a number of liters of distilled alcohol. Raziel's question was a valid one -- and Kain had no ready answer. He assumed at first that something about Haven had poisoned him, but Raziel did not suffer from the same affliction. "Some two weeks ago, I rather foolishly engaged in an altercation," Kain started slowly, tonguing across his short eyeteeth. He'd never lost a fang before, but the date of the assault and the advent of the nagging weariness did seem to coincide.

"An altercation?" Raziel echoed. Of all the answers he had expected, that was not one of them, and his frown deepened. He settled to the floor, heedless of his nudity or the bloodsmears and grime that still adorned his skin, all his attention upon Kain. "What manner of altercation?"

"One which I, rather spectacularly, lost." Kain admitted. He opened a pocket and removed a flask of alcohol and several handtowels, then settled to the ground beside Raziel. "The victor was of a mind to take spoils, apparently. Trophies. I began to notice a certain... weariness upon me soon thereafter." The Sarafan had a long history of taking such from the fledglings they slew -- Malek had worn a helm plumed with the hair of his kills. Vampire fangs were prized as talismans and folk remedies -- though as it had now been ten years since any vampire other than Kain walked the earth, such trophies were becoming increasingly rare. "I believe the weariness will subside as I continue to recuperate," Kain said firmly, wetting one of the handtowels.

Raziel's face darkened. "Who was it? And what manner of ... spoils did they take it upon themselves to reft from you?" That someone would try to do such to Kain, to humble him so ... it was an insult that should be answered. "You are certain that your ... weariness is solely because of this?"

Kain snarled a little. "I will handle the matter myself -- and will derive great satisfaction in doing so. And no, I am not certain," he folded the cloth over and started upon Raziel's shoulder. Blood had congealed over the site of the wound inflicted by the flay, and while Kain believed Raziel's statement that he had healed, he wanted to see unblemished skin for himself. "I have never lost teeth before, after all."

Teeth. Whoever this unknown enemy was—they had ripped out Kain's teeth? Fangs, most likely, knowing vampire hunters as he did—it was a boastful thing, 'defanging' the monster. Raziel watched Kain's mouth, but the younger vampire had too much time to heal to know for sure. Were those fangs shorter? Blunter? He could not tell.

Raziel growled a little under his breath, but did not press the matter—for now. Instead he took a different tack. "Even injury does not explain the ... lassitude, or the recklessness I have seen in you of late, Kain. You were about to *sleep* under the sun just moments ago. Perhaps I am mistaken, but ... I think something else may be the cause."

"You have a hypothesis, perhaps?" Kain snapped, emptying a little of the bottled alcohol over Raziel's skin. Accumulated blood and grime came away easily under the handtowel, exposing skin that was utterly perfect. "I considered the possibility of poisoning, and of some unknown aftereffect of the fall of stars. But antitoxin aids me not at all, and the timeframe does not seem to match with the devastation of April first." And feeding the Reaver had not helped -- though that had been a long shot in the first place. Kain had, quite simply, run out of possibilities.

Kain didn't know. Raziel was both surprised and not. How *could* he know? He was the last vampire in existence in this era, a fledgling without sire or elder to watch, to learn from—to know what he might become.

It was beyond ironic that Kain's firstborn seemed destined to play the elder to his own sire.

"I believe ... that you may be approaching the state of change. It has never happened before with you, has it?" he said quietly.

Kain had never even heard of anything resembling a state of change. Was it a physical location, or a mental one? 'State' -- surely not in the political sense? And to admit his paucity of knowledge on the subject of his own species.... "I..." Kain disposed of the thoroughly bloodied towel into a dimensional pocket. He'd not leave it here, where the smell of blood might attract creatures. "...no. I do not believe so. What is it?"

Raziel looked away from Kain's face, down at his taloned hands. He flexed the fingers throughtfully, wings drawing in tighter. "Vampires are immortal, but not immutable—we are not mountains," he said, much as he would have to one of his own making. "As time passes, we ... change. Grow stronger, harder, more powerful. Growing ... different. Less human." He lifted his head again, raising a hand in illustration; the thick, heavily-taloned three fingers so different from Kain's still-human five. "I cannot tell you how long it will take you to change, or what changes there will be. Just that it *will* happen."

Kain knew, of course, that vampires altered over time. Popular tales of his human days were rife with images of vampires more changed even than Vorador -- and even if those were fanciful exaggeration, the principle yet stood. Vampires changed, became -- "More... divine," Kain breathed, reaching to draw his fingertips down the rough skin at the undersides of Raziel's fingers and palm. "Does this 'state' occur but once?" Kain asked quickly, relief sweeping him -- he'd thought this weakness might presage his demise, not his transcendence. "And your wings, were they a product of this change?"

The talons twitched a little—though whether it was at Kain's light touch or the question posed was nearly impossible to tell. Raziel's expression turned a little wry, but he did not contest Kain's assertion of divinity. "The changes happen at intervals—the older one becomes, the longer between them. And ... yes. My wings were ... the result of my last change."

His final change—the one that had proved his undoing. Or so he had thought as a wraith. Now, suddenly, he wondered if he would undergo them again as well, if he stayed free of the Reaver long enough ...

Kain tilted his head a little. Raziel seemed very much in thought, and he wondered if the state of change was traumatic, in some regard. But one could survive it; that much was clear -- Raziel had, after all. Kain looked over the elder with a different kind of regard -- wondering anew at the subdermal armor, the marvelously useful talons, the muscles that hinted at the uncanny strength and speed Raziel so casually displayed. And Raziel had stated that Kain would be older than he, when they two met -- "Is it common to develop wings?" he asked.

"The Ancients were winged," Raziel said slowly, hoping to divert Kain from that particular line of questioning. "But among those vampires that came after—no. It is ... exceedingly rare."

Kain understood, of course, that not all vampires became winged -- Vorador was not, nor any of the dozens of his mad fledglings, whom Kain had been forced to slay. "Do I acquire wings?" he asked.

Raziel hesitated, then shook his head. "Not—in the time that I knew you, at least," he said quietly, hedging around the question. It was unlikely that Kain would suddenly develop wings after Raziel had been interred in the Reaver ... but nothing was impossible. And the depictions he had seen ... were they simply a fallacy of the Ancients, who believed their Messiah would be as winged as they? Or emblems of some future truth he was not to know?

Kain sighed briefly and leaned back on an elbow. The movement made a crust of blood spattering his stomach itch, and he pulled a clean towel from its pocket, swiping at the stain. No water resistance, no wings... it was not easy to mute the spark of temper. "Do I develop such useful talons as yours, at least?" Spectacular, those were -- capable of near-human dexterity, but far more suited to battle or the hunt than soft fleshy hands. And at least he'd seen those on some of Vorador's older fledglings.

A chuckle sneaked out at Kain's petulant tone. "Indeed you do ..." Raziel said with the ghost of a smile. "And a great many other ... abilities, as well." Not all of them came wholly from the slow process of evolution, of course—Kain's knowledge and power had been greater than any of his get, and that had only become more evident as he aged.

Well, at least that was something -- Kain could not even bring himself to vocalize a half-hearted growl at the elder's amusement. His worries much eased, Kain could at last turn his attention to their quest here, to the challenges that lay in discovering the cause of the pillars' accelerating rot. Kain was weak presently, but not incapable. "How long does the state of change typically last? I would continue southwards as long as possible -- retreat is, after all, as simple as breaking apart the Powers' medallions."

Raziel misliked that idea, if only because he knew better than Kain the weakness and lethargy that was the precursor to the change—and how uniquely vulnerable a vampire was once they had entered it. "It lasts as long as it lasts," he replied. "Sometimes mere weeks, sometimes months. More rarely, even longer at times ... there is no telling until it is over. And if you are close to such a change ... I do not like the idea of venturing into enemy territory while you are so weakened."

"Months? Raziel, in the weeks since we last departed Nosgoth, three seasons have passed, if not years." Kain would have to search through the belongings of the humans they had slain to know for certain, the mind of the sole adventurer still living was in all likelihood too tattered to provide even that much information. "And... I am no mere hedge-wizard; I can more than compensate for physical weariness through magery alone. " Willpower had kept him on his feet for the last handful of days, and it would continue to do so, until Kain had the information he needed.

Kain paused, considered Raziel. "I will inform you, should the debilitation grow any worse," he said, more softly, "but these shipments of arms and armor cannot be permitted to continue unchecked."

"I agree, however—" Raziel was not sure they *could* be checked. Kain had told him of the Hylden general, and of Meridian, once. "Kain, you have never undergone the change. Once it takes hold—you are helpless. Unable to move, to fight or flee ... you are not even truly conscious of your surroundings, except in the most fundamental of ways. Without others there to guard, or a secret place to seal oneself away in ..." It went without saying that Raziel would do his best to guard Kain. But he was a single vampire, not a Clan. He could not defeat Hylden armies alone.

Helpless? That was worse than Kain had feared, though -- "Is there any reason to believe that the change will occur in the next few nights, when it has not all the nights previous? And in any this case, Raziel, teleportation is as swift as a few simple words. For that matter, a retreat back to that blasted artificial prison can be had simply by sundering the Powers' amulet. I will not simply remain here and... wait."

Unable to counter Kain's arguments, Raziel drew in a breath, then let it out in a sigh. "Very well. I would wish to avoid any open or pitched battles, then, if we do continue on." It was hardly the protection he would have wished for his sire, but short of forcing them both back to Haven—something Kain would be hard-pressed to forgive him for—Raziel had few options.

Kain inclined his head. "Your concerns are duly noted. For the time being, however, tell me..." The dim light cast the elder's body as a sculpture in silver and shadow. The luminescent paleness of Raziel's skin was marred in places by dust and gore. Kain wet a new towel in alcohol and began where he'd left off. The utter perfection of Raziel's body was welcome distraction from the weakness brought on by daylight, and gave him opportunity to ply the elder with more questions -- about what kinds of places were safe enough during a change, and from whence came the need to feed so often beforehand, and many other details.

Raziel's knowledge of the ways and needs of their kind was vast indeed. By the time the two vampires were finished, their equipment sufficiently clean and Kain's curiosity sufficiently sated, the sun had begun to touch upon the west horizon.

For Raziel's part, he had kept a sharp eye upon the younger vampire as they had conversed, watching for any new signs of Kain's lethargy. But Kain showed little inclination to slip into slumber once more, whether through sheer force of will or otherwise, and Raziel found himself somewhat reassured.

At the onset of night, Raziel bestirred himself to rise. Now properly armed and armored once more, he stepped out of the room that had given them sanctuary, and listened to the rustlings of other creatures that had also roused as the evening progressed. There were the normal rodentlike noises, the faint squeak of bats—and further, echoing over the stones, the rasp of talons and faint, low growls. They might be the pre-eminent predators in this place, but they were not the only ones.

"What think you?" he asked, turning back to Kain. "Shall we chance crossing this great lake directly, or hew ourselves more closely to the shores?"

As if facilitating Kain's intent, evening brought calm skies and a slight tailwind from the north. Adhering to the shores would put them both at somewhat greater risk for attack, as one direction would bring them close to the pillars, and the other would fly them past the Sarafan fortress. "Directly across," Kain stated firmly, finding the human he had left posted near the entrance to the keep. It was unharmed, though still blank-eyed. Kain dragged the mortal to him, back to chest. "Care you for any? T'will be at least two hours' crossing," Kain offered, finding a thundering artery along one side of the man's throat for himself.

Raziel shook his head. "Thank you, no—I am still well-sated from our hunt this morning." He watched without emotion as Kain bit deep and drank the man's lifeblood. It was better that the younger vampire have as much sustenance as possible in any case, if the change was so close ...

So different, the humans here and the placeholders. There was a wealth of subtleties utterly missing from Haven's vapid recreations, hints of the foods that the human had eaten last, the emotions that had crossed its mind, the man's level of fitness... all so different, so pleasant to taste. Even the faint bitterness from the adventurer's twelve hours of starvation, over the last day, was welcome and different. At last, Kain dropped the corpse and drew the back of his hand across his mouth. Nodding to Raziel, Kain glanced around one last time, and then took to the skies.

If anything, the disorientation this time was... worse. Raziel lead the way, which was very well indeed, for without that darksome aura to track, Kain could far more easily have become quite lost. The water underwing was cold and dark, though not silent. To the bats, it seemed to ring with the calls of long serpentine beasts, whose backs puckered the water from time to time in flashes of scaly hide and fins.


	3. Chapter 3

The flight was long—the lake was a great deal more vast than he had last remembered it, and Raziel wondered idly if it had shrunk by the time Kain's empire had risen to prominence. He glided on warm southerly currents of air, his back to the north star, wings beating steadily through the night.

How many times had he crossed and recrossed these lands? As a human, as a vampire with armies at his back, and then again, alone, as a wraith, slipping in and out of the shadowlands of death as the terrain required ... Even he did not know for sure. These lands were not as familiar to him as those of the north, however; the stark and beautiful mountains that guarded the domain of the Razielim. Here instead was the scent of salt and decay, of warm damp earth and exotic spices ... breathing it in, Raziel banished his memories and continued on.

They reached the other shore by the time the moon had reached its zenith. Raziel's sharp eyes spotted the tumbled pillars that indicated another ruined shrine, set up high upon a cliff overlooking the lake, and he headed for it. Some time to rest and reorient themselves would not come amiss; and as efficient as flying was, he could not exactly converse with a myriad mass of bats.

Though the flight was shorter than the long journey of last night, Kain found himself only marginally less tired upon arrival. Salt and mist-laden air both irritated the bats, and Kain had just mind enough to be grateful when Raziel caught an updraft off a tall cliff face and began to land.

The shrine was an ancient thing, once a massive and high-roofed pavilion, now little more than a circular platform of cracked marble, surrounded with the jagged stumps of broken columns. There was evidence that some of the blocks had been dragged away, perhaps for other constructions, such as the Sarafan keep -- the lights of which were faintly visible, gleaming far away along the shore of the lake.

Kain landed as a messy and disorderly flock, though the space was expansive enough that he did not, at least, hit anything. Flailing and squeaking, little bats flapped across the ground, rejoining the central mass as Kain reformed.

Backing away to give Kain ample room to reform, Raziel nonetheless found himself ducking a few disoriented strays. Once Kain was whole once more, he said quietly, "We have arrived ... where do you propose we head from here?"

Once his bearings were caught, Kain withdrew a mapcase from its subdimensional fold. He unrolled the parchment and spread it upon one of the flatter column tops. "Meridian is some two hundred miles due southwest of here," Kain mused, tracing the distance. "The Great Southern Lake is marked by several fjords here and... here. There should be villages along the shores of those, as well as someplace to spend the day if necessary." Kain tapped his nails on the mountains indicated. "I would approach Meridian from the east, and ask after the weapons shipments, before seeking Freeport. The last time I passed Provance, it had no extensive foundries."

Raziel nodded. "Very well. It would probably behoove us not to remain here long—the Sarafan are not what they once were, but this area still is not safe. Do you need to rest and recover?"

Kain considered. He strongly suspected that Vorador's head was yet being kept in the Sarfan citadel, and if Kain were to believe Vorador's tale.... He shook his head briefly. The Hylden assuredly took precedence, even over Kain's vendettas. "No, I am well enough," he said.

Before following Raziel into the air, Kain withdrew one of the small, rune-wrapped vials of blood he had purchased in Haven, and swallowed the contents. The extra energy did little to assuage the hunger, which was all but omnipresent, but it did clear Kain's head somewhat.

The flight was long, and the land below, strangely dry -- despite the abundance of deep streams and lakes. The mountains east of Meridian were high, and little rain fell in this part of the world. Clustered close to each waterway were villages, their fields irrigated in shining grids in the moonlight.

Kain became slower as the night wore on and the land below became more rugged, and it became clear that they would not cross the mountains before dawn. A small encampment, picked out by the light of an exposed campfire, marked a traveling merchant, whose guardsmen were unexpectedly delectable. The vampires spent the day coiled together in a cave with a bottle of bloodwine, warm and secure atop piled furs and blankets, some miles from the wagon's smoldering wreckage.

By midnight, they were in view of Meridian.

The ascent through the mountains had been a long one, the air nearly too thin to support small wings. Kain reformed on a high ridge overlooking the city's lights. Meridian was massive, the largest city in all Nosgoth, containing a hundred thousand humans or more. Even miles away, the stink and smog of the city was clearly evident.

Raziel wrinkled his nose as the breeze brought the reeking stench of the city. "That, at least, Haven has improved upon. I had forgotten how odiferous so many humans could truly be ..." He surveyed the city, noting the fortress at its heart, the enclaves of various trades. "So—the foundries first, then?"

Kain leaned upon a boulder, trying to make the movement seem a casual one. His senses seemed to spin, and his joints were stiff. "They're here. I can feel them," Kain breathed, unthinkingly. But there was something about the city, a feel of green that weighed upon his mind like a memory he simply could not place, but which urged him retreat. The whole of the city set him on edge, rather than any one part, but -- "Yes," Kain said after a moment, "the foundries. There." Heavy industry was clustered towards the west, near the shoreline.

Without waiting for comment, Kain launched himself from the precarious ledge, dissolving his body into a multitude of tiny, winged forms. The little bats could glide, to a large extent, for the descent from the mountainside was a steep one. The air above Meridian was rank and thick with fumes. Even at this hour, wagons moved on most of the roads, bringing foodstuffs in from far-flung farms to feed the multitudes.

"Kain, wai—" But the younger vampire was already gone, heading downward. Cursing under his breath, Raziel leaped into the air after him, gliding swiftly towards the city. Every instinct he possessed was telling him this was ill-advised, that they were walking into a trap with no exit ... but he could not very well let Kain walk into such a trap alone.

The darkness, combined with the pall of smoke from chimneys and the foundries, conspired to conceal Raziel while in the air. It helped that humans generally did not make a practice of looking up. What, after all, could possibly threaten them from the air? Once on the ground, however, Raziel's distinctively vampiric features would be much harder to conceal, and not for the first time he cursed his lack of ability at disguise.

The foundry complex was a massive affair, half a mile in width and a mile or more in length. One of the buildings was enormous, as high-roofed as Vorador's forge, and it was there Kain targeted. In a loose mass, little bats swirled around the smoke-benching furnaces, finally landing in the expansive courtyard before the main entrance. Wagons and carts rimmed the perimeter of the wide-open space, but there were no humans anywhere to be seen.

The bats reformed, and Kain stood a moment. He felt, quite strangely, fine, or nearly so. Clear headed, for the first time in days, even if the stiffness of his joints was somewhat worse. Checking to be certain the Reaver was firmly upon his back, Kain stalked towards the building's open double doors.

It was as if Kain had forgotten his presence entirely. More disturbed that he cared to admit, Raziel landed silently on the cobblestones of the courtyard, stretching his senses for signs of sentries or any other humans—and found none. Which did little to alleviate his suspicions, as every other fortress, ruin or peasant hovel had possessed guards of a sort, even if they were only the meanest mongrel dogs.

Moving up to Kain's back, he murmured, "'ware, Kain—there may be spell-wrought barriers to entrap us."

Kain started at the voice behind him, turning in surprise to face Raziel. Was it possible there was something amiss with the elder? For Kain could only just sense the weight of Raziel's aura -- that massive force of dark and electric energy. Now doubly concerned, Kain nodded absently, and turned back to the building.

The pair of main doors was each big enough to drive a wagon inside, though now they hung just a little ajar. The Reaver glowing dimly as he brought it to hand, Kain stepped inside.

The single, enormous room was as hot as the height of a summer day. Huge machines crouched, quiet and dim -- equipment to press metal into plates, to stamp it, to pour or mold it. Crucibles deeper than Kain was tall hung in places, lighting the room in the faint orange of incandescent and molten metal. Kain turned his head, searching as if blind -- there was green here, he knew it. But where.... Kain started towards something like a loading dock near the middle, where crates crowded upon a wide platform.

Kain moved swiftly, as sure as a hound upon a scent—and Raziel could do naught but follow, and watch for the enemies that Kain seemed unconcerned by. The Reaver that hummed in Kain's hand was an uncomfortable presence, a cold and pulsing draw, and Raziel dared not summon the wraithblade to hand. Not yet.

Whatever track Kain followed, it was accurate enough; the crates began to glow a little as they approached, a sickly lambent green in the dimness of the forge. Raziel stifled the urge to recoil, and forced himself to approach. Lips peeling back from fangs in an involuntary snarl, he inserted talons into one side of the crate and wrenched it away with one hard pull, revealing the stacked contents within. The makers had not thought to protect the crates themselves from vampiric touch—but the blades within all had glyphs, glowing dully through the straw and splintered wood.

Kain growled lowly as the blades were revealed, each inscribed over with strange and twisting runes. The green glow made something in his chest clench, just as before. Kain's lips pulled back in a snarl of his own. "So many -- I'd not imagined...." there were more weapons in one or two crates alone than could be carried, dimensional pockets or no, even if Kain could stand to lay hand upon the glowing weapons. And there were dozens of crates here.

Kain leapt to the platform, skin crawling as he brushed against a crate. He hung the Reaver to its place upon his back, and rubbed at his hand, where the skin itched; perhaps the nearness of the Hylden energy had burned him. Kain's gaze fell upon Raziel, and just beyond him... a pair of metal-filled crucibles were held suspended, as if abandoned mere minutes before. "Help me push these near that machinery," Kain ordered, shoving one of the heavy crates from the platform with effort.

Raziel glanced over, then looked down at the crates assessingly. The scrape of wood against stone seemed ungodly loud to his ears, but no one came to investigate. Yet another bit of strangeness to add to all the others.

The crucibles were low, just a few feet above the platform itself. And Raziel knew well how to handle such ... obstructions.

Stepping forward, he set his feet and sank first one hand, then the other deep into the sides of the nearest crate, talons ripping into the wood. With a small grunt, he hefted it upwards, walked over to the crucible, and tossed it in. The crate promptly burst into flame as the wood and straw came in contact with the molten metal, sinking out of sight. Raziel glanced at Kain inquiringly. "That *was* what you had in mind, correct?"

Kain blinked, frowned, eyed his crate, which he'd been shoving in increments towards the crucibles. The wooden containers were quite large, each meant to be loaded alone onto a four-horse-team wagon. "Yes," he admitted. Flames lashed as the white-hot metal within the crucible devoured Raziel's crate, the green glow of weaponry flaring and then fading as the runes were melted away. Kain plunged his fists through the wooden sides between the reinforcing steel bands, hissing as the glow from his crate intensified, and lifted.

The crate, loaded with several tons of armor and weapons, went absolutely nowhere. Kain braced himself, then tried again -- and managed after a time to lift one edge, rolling the box with a heavy clank onto its side. With a huff of annoyance, Kain stepped back, watched Raziel toss another of the crates to destruction. Mayhaps those ones were... lighter.

Noting Kain's struggles out of the corner of his eye, Raziel did not offer to help—the younger vampire would not tolerate such an affront to his pride, he well knew. So instead he kept his amusement well-hidden, and continued tossing crates into the crucibles. They were unwieldy, but far lighter than the weighty stone blocks he had oft been forced to move in one ruin after another, and the weapons' destruction proceeded apace.

It took, in fact, less than half an hour. Each of the several dozen containers of vile Hylden armor melted down quite nicely. Kain's crate, which he decided was clearly and by far the heaviest of the lot, was last. He shoved it to lay beneath one crucible, where the heat of the metal made the air shimmer and his skin ache. Then, checking to make certain Raziel was well clear, Kain lobbed an Implode artifact at the side of the enormous vessel.

For a moment, the blast seemed to do little to the massive crucible, then cracks radiated outwards from the impact. With a wrenching sound, thick red metal poured out, splashing onto the crate and into the nearby machinery. Oil and grease sizzled, then caught fire.

Upon Kain's back, the Reaver began to hum. Kain rubbed at his armored forearm, wondering if he'd been somehow burned -- his skin itched quite strangely. "A most splendid execution, Raziel. I believe the time has come for expeditious retreat."

"I agree," Raziel said, eyes sweeping the shadows. The fine hairs on his neck were standing on end, waiting for the inevitable attack to follow the destruction they had wrought—but nothing happened. "It is curious that none have come to investigate—but I do not believe we should tarry to see what their reaction to this will be." The destruction of so much Hylden magic had lent an acrid tang to the air, a prickling of released magicks that sat uncomfortably upon his skin and refused to leave.

Dropping from the platform, Raziel moved swiftly towards the entrance, staying to the shadows.

Kain nodded. The Reaver's agitation grew as he followed Raziel, the blade almost trembling as it hummed. Something seemed to flit about the corners of his vision, and though Kain's weakness had fled for the past hour or so, the stiffness of his joints was growing progressively worse. Flames were spreading behind them, but something seemed... green, at the edges of his senses, and Kain could not say whether that was due to the weapons' destruction, or... moving swiftly in a half-crouch, Kain darted through the open doors.

The courtyard was filled with guardsmen.

Not simple farmers, but trained soldiers one and all, their weapons and armor faintly glowing in acknowledgement of Kain's proximity, their long pikes set and pointed. Like massive drapes, walls of virulent energy ringed the courtyard and the foundry building, roiling and swirling, sometimes clear enough to see through to the city beyond, sometimes glimmering like sheets of emeralds. The whole courtyard was lit pale green, washing out the colors of several massive demons, all curving horns and claws and spiked backs.

Something like a man, though taller and far more slender, stepped from betwixt two warriors. It was clothed in black robes, the hem stitched in the same runes that covered the guards. It lifted a head that had never been human -- skeletal and pinched, crowned by spikes and extrusions of bone.

"Raziel," it hissed.

Raziel snarled, cursing lowly under his breath as he surveyed their surroundings. A trap indeed, baited and sprung. Formidable as they were, they might be able to kill most of the guardsmen; but taking care of all of them, and the demons as well? Nigh impossible, especially with the wards blocking their escape.

He stepped forward, straightening and summoning the wraithblade. It awakened with an eager hum that harmonized eerily with the physical Reaver. "Should I be flattered you know my name, Hylden?" he said mockingly, with every bit of arrogance he knew, as if he had a Clan at his back and not a single fledgling. Doing his best to draw the creature's attention away from Kain and the blade he bore. Under his breath, he hissed, "Kain ... teleport away. _Now_."

"How could we not? Raziel -- timespanning pawn of the Ancient's false god." The Hylden's voice was all syllabents and fricatives, rattling. The demons stirred, stomping and snorting breaths laced with flame. The men, glassy eyed, did not cringe from the either the Hylden's wracked visage or the monstrous beasts so nearby.

"No," growled Kain, stepping to stand beside Raziel. The Reaver sang, shivering with the force of the lightning-blue energies that coursed its length -- the same hue as the ethereal blade that rimmed Raziel's right arm. Pulling the Reaver from his back, Kain plunged the tip through the cobblestones, so that it stood near to hand. Fingers dancing through the motions of the spell, energy gathering around his fists, Kain shouted the words to call down lightning.

Nothing happened.

Of course. When had Kain ever done what he was told? Raziel set his teeth against a hot retort. There was no time to argue, not with the forces arrayed them. No matter how much he desired to take Kain to task for risking not only himself, but the future Empire that rested upon his continued existence!

"Your wards against us will only last as long as your fellow demons do, Hylden," Raziel said in challenge, and indirectly informing Kain why his spell had failed. "Shall you stay, and see how long it takes me to slaughter them?"

"I shall stay, and witness the end of your blighted existence," hissed the Hylden. Its long, bony fingers curled into fists. Its gaze slid from Raziel to the brightly lit blade he wielded, and then settled upon the Reaver; venom glinted green in the creature's narrowed eyes.

Kain growled brief acknowledgement to Raziel, wrapping his hands around the Reaver's hilt. The four demons -- these were the source of the wards that stoppered his magic and wreathed the skies in poison. He would deal with them first, then. In the flat green light, Kain's undead skin looked waxen and stiff to his eyes.

The Hylden stepped back between his bespelled humans, thin and delicate hooves momentarily visible beneath the hem of its robe. "Slay the traitor." The phalanx of guards shouted as they began to move forward -- the sound all but drowned out by a cacophony of slavering roars as the demons charged wide around the humans, two running right and the other two left, their hooves like thunder with each stride.

"Damnation," Raziel cursed under his breath. Were he alone, he could simply escape to the Underworld, and from there, find a better place to launch an attack on the demons. But that would leave a fledgling Kain alone and unprotected for too long—as formidable as his sire would become, Raziel did not doubt that here and now, so close to the change, he would be overwhelmed in an instant.

He ripped open the dimensional space in which his belongings had been stored with little finesse and a great deal of desperation, grabbing blindly. A pike stabbed at his body, he ducked away from it, coming away with a handful of flays. A mighty wing-assisted leap took him over the heads of the pikemen, and he flung the flays into their midst, trusting the little weapons to wreak what carnage they could. His wings beat swiftly, and then he dove at the nearest demon, wraithblade humming on his arm.

The creature skidded to a halt, and launched a green-glowing ball of energy at him in return. Remembering the hard-won lessons he had learned against Dante's demon, Raziel folded his wings out of reach and let himself drop, cannonballing full against the creature's midsection.

Kain darted to one side, away from the onrushing wall of deadly, glowing pike-tips. He barely caught the blur as Raziel made another of his deceptively easy fifteen-meter vertical leaps, unleashing several spinning, whirring flays -- bright little shards of metal that glinted even in the flat light.

The phalanx advance halted as the flays clanged off heavy green armor, deflecting to shoot across the courtyard and ricochet back once more. Blood gouted up in places and a few men fell; the rest lifted their shields, protecting themselves and the being that stood in their midst.

Opportunistically, Kain plunged the Reaver beneath one man's helmet. The blade resonated as it consumed the soul and then disposed of the shell of a corpse, blasting giblets and segments of armor in all directions. And then the backhand of a massive paw struck his side. Desperately grasping the Reaver, Kain tumbled over, sliding in a crash of armor over the cobblestones.

The demon was huge—but even it had not expected Raziel's full weight to drop suddenly upon its torso. Raziel slammed into it, and knocked it backward; then had a struck of luck as the creature stumbled over its own feet and fell. Raziel pressed the advantage while he could, darting forward and slicing viciously downward. Greenish ichor flew, and the demon howled in rage and pain. It surged upward, one hand sweeping out in a roundhouse blow.

Snarling, Raziel ducked under it, crouching low, and drove it back with another flurry of strikes. Another human guardsman tried to attack him from the side—catching the sweep of a glyph-etched blade from the corner of his eye, Raziel blocked with one gauntleted arm, suppressing a cry of pain as the Hylden magics seared his flesh in retaliation, and kicked the man away. The demons were the real enemy in this fight. The humans were just there to get in the way.

Kain could hear the flurry of screaming and roaring that erupted across the courtyard, but he had his own troubles for the moment. Rolling to his feet, Kain was forced to resort to mistform to escape the long pikes of four guardsmen who peeled away from the larger phalanx. The shapeshifting felt slow and halting, and only just had Kain sped away when the magic seemed to stumble and fail, dropping him back into a physical body once more. The pikemen rushed him, and Kain scrabbled in a dimensional pocket for an Implode device.

The marble-sized weapon was released, and then -- _fire_. A blast of furnace heat swept Kain and the guardsmen alike as the closest demon dropped to all fours and exspelled a breath of red-hot flames. Kain flung up an arm, struggling to shield himself as his flesh blistered. He dove away, hacking at a massive, armored leg he could just make out. Unseen, a handful of pikemen dropped their weapons and unslung crossbows from their backs.

One last slice, and the wraithblade claimed the demon's life, flaring blue-white as the creature gave one last plaintive roar and stopped in its tracks. Raziel had no time to celebrate his victory as a lightning strike thundered overhead—and this time, not of Kain's doing. He dived and rolled frantically out of the way as green-tinged lightning struck again and again. The demons were unaffected; a few of the guardsmen were caught unawares, and screamed horribly as they were killed, their armor no protection against Hylden magic. For all his efforts, Raziel could not evade all the strikes; caught in the backwash of one in particular, he found himself flung backward, electricity sizzling across every convulsing fibre of his now-scorched flesh.

Coincidentally, the magic had done more to scatter the guards than to aid them. But even as Raziel crashed into their midst, they recovered quickly enough, the crossbowmen backing away to try and gain the upper hand, while the remaining pikemen stabbed downward.

The tip of the Reaver found flesh and then... a roar from behind was Kain's only warning. A massive, horned head was lowered and then the second demon thundered forward in a bull's charge. One great horn scraped against Kain's armor; the other caught on a joint and sunk through, deep into Kain's back, piercing through ribs and lung. A short, sharp cry of shock and agony burst with blood from Kain's lips, and the demon flung him aside with easy savagery.

The wounded demon, ichor dribbling from its thigh, snarled and snapped at the other, which swept vicious claws at the wounded beast in retort. With a rattling hiss, the limping, red-skinned demon stalked towards the other side of the courtyard where Raziel fought instead, leaving Kain with but a single demonic foe and a dozen humans with pikes and crossbows.

As he Kain tried to stagger upright, the crossbowmen took aim on his thrashing body. The heads of their bolts glowed venom-bright. The first flight was loosed even as Kain got to his knees.

Raziel writhed frantically, dodging and slicing about himself with the wraithblade, wings tucked tight against his back. The lightning had incapacitated him for long, endless moments—long enough that now he was at a distinct disadvantage, hemmed in from all sides. He laid strikes against all his enemies, keeping them at bay; until a pike got through his guard, sliding through armored skin with ease and stabbing deep into his stomach.

Raziel could not prevent a hoarse cry of pain at the burning agony of it. Wrapping a hand around the haft of the pike, he snapped it in two like a twig and flung its wielder away. The guards, like hounds scenting blood, crowded inward. There was no time to remove the pikehead from his flesh. The wraithblade hummed angrily on his armor, a red tinge to its glow, almost at a fever pitch, as the demons behind the pikemen began to move in for the kill.

With a snarl, Raziel buried the wraithblade into the guard before him with one savage thrust. All the built up energy from the symbiotic weapon was expended in an instant, in a fearsome wave that rippled through air and ground alike. The hapless human was killed in an instant, and all others in the courtyard were knocked off their feet by the force of it, from the lowliest of humans to the greatest of the demons. It would not kill them—but it gave him room to maneuver, and that was all he could hope for. He saw his sire on his knees, wounded. "Kain!"

The lengths of the embedded bolts were brightly aglow where some few of them pierced through Kain's heavy wraith armor. It was well he was already upon his knees, for the forcequake that rippled through the courtyard would have sent him sprawling otherwise. Snarling, Kain seized the fletching ends and began to yank the bolts from his flesh. In the venom-green light, the blood-spattered, char-crusted skin upon his hands seemed almost stony -- and there was something about that, something Raziel had told him...

 _Raziel_. Kain surged to his feet, casting about for the elder's presence. Had he heard Raziel's voice just now? The confusion was growing worse, and his vision was poor -- his eyes perhaps clouded by flame damage. But he saw humans writhing on the ground, struggling to stand in their massively heavy Hylden armor. Blood and gore coated the cobblestones. With a vicious snarl, Kain reached for a dimensional pocket, and drew forth a small bundle of dried and twisted vines. Unthinking, he tossed it upon the prone guardsmen; they shrieked as the acidic rot ate at them.... and then the contagion began to spread.

Raziel saw Kain stagger, saw him yank the bolts from his flesh and toss the font of putrescence into the fray. Amid the screams of the humans as the magical rot took ahold of their flesh, devouring it like a cancer, he saw it begin to spread even further, taking hold upon the blood splattered everywhere in the courtyard—including themselves.

"Kain!" Raziel lunged towards him, dodging the swipe of a demon as it climbed to its feet and launching himself into the air, keeping well clear of the greenish-black areas that the rot had already overtaken. In that instant, he realized—the Hylden had warded the exits—but not the *sky*.

 _Fool ... thrice damned-fool!_ Raziel landed in the small patch of clear ground next to Kain, and grabbed the younger vampire unceremoniously around the chest and waist. "Hold on to the Reaver," he snapped, having already dismissed the wraithblade. Then he launched himself into the air once more, adrenalin and fear aiding him in his burden as he pumped his wings frantically, propelling them skyward. He had to get them clear quickly, before they could bring crossbows to bear ....

It was possible -- just possible -- Kain realized, that there might've been safer devices to utilize, under the present conditions. Damnation, he'd... and then there were arms wrapping around his body, and he was being wrenched upwards. He struggled against the unthinkable strength of his assailant for an instant, before realizing distantly whose voice hissed in his ear.

"Raziel?" Kain breathed. There was a pressure against his side -- the shaft of a pike, the blade of which was still embedded in Raziel's stomach. From above, the field of battle was marginally clearer -- demons and men were scrambling away from a spreading pool of rot (had someone used a font of putrescence? What foolishness!) where the flesh of a dozen men and one demon boiled and hissed with noxious decay. And just there -- the black-robed Hylden, standing protected in the center of a tight formation of guardsmen. It was holding aloft something, a rod capped by an orb, glowing just as had Moebius' staff...

Kain worked one hand between them, gripped the base of the pikehead, and pulled it free of Raziel's flesh. Grip tight upon the Reaver, Kain dissolved his body into a multitude of bats. The small, winged bodies tumbled and fluttered from Raziel's grasp, the flock arrowing towards the Hylden.

And then the magic powering Kain's shapeshifting caught... and failed. Nerveless, bats crashed to earth in semi-liquid lumps of substance, drawing back together haltingly as Kain fought for power enough to force his form back together. Sightless, he felt it as the Hylden unleashed a ray of debilitating force, making something in Kain's chest seize, even though the magic was not directed at him. _Raziel!_

"Kain, no!" Raziel shouted in vain as the younger vampire dissolved in his arms, the pikehead falling to the ground as he did so. What was Kain *thinking*? They could not win this battle—not like this! He tried to turn, to circle around and retrieve his errant too-young sire—

—and then a bolt of icy cold hit him square upon the back.

It felt as if every muscle in his body had seized all at once—like getting hit by multiple lightning bolts, so hot they were cold. He couldn't fly, couldn't fight—could do nothing but fall. He cried out, a hoarse, incoherent cry of denial, memories swamping him at the helplessness as he fell, his wings ruined, useless...

And then he hit, not water, but the unyielding roof of the foundry instead. One wing, half-bent and limp, caught under him, a bone snapping with white-hot agony. His armored skin saved his other limbs, but the uncontrolled fall jarred the wound in his abdomen even further, and cracked his head upon the clay tiles of the roof.

He was caught—unable to move, unable to flee. He could not even see Kain, his vision swimming and hazed with blackness.

The scream shook Kain aware, awake, as the little bats fluttered and flailed to join back to the larger mass. His senses whirled as if he were drugged or drunk, his body seemed incapable of movement, as if his skin had hardened. But that scream -- struck through the confusion.

He lay on cold flagstones, where he'd fallen. Raziel was nowhere to be seen. The booted feet of pikemen were gathering close, the heads of their long pikes glowing malevolently as the weapons were held steady. Distantly, the two remaining demons thundered past, heading for the foundry where they began clawing their way up the exterior wall to the roof.

Even if it worked with so much Hylden interference, teleportation would deliver Kain to safety -- but not Raziel. As for the magics of Haven... Kain's fingers twitched, moved enough to reach out. As stiff as if turned to stone, his fingers closed clumsily around a small blue amulet, twin to the one Kain knew Raziel still possessed. Kain dragged it out, wrapped it in his fist, squeezed....

Deceptively delicate, a cloven hoof came down upon his wrist with inhuman strength, shattering bones and tearing tendon. In his disorientation and weariness, the sudden pain drew a brief scream from Kain's lips. Terrible, long, bony fingers plucked the amulet from Kain's grasp. "Well now," the Hylden mused. "What have we here...."

Raziel could hear the scrabble of claws against stone as the demons clawed their way up to where he was. Feebly, he managed to roll over. Dragging his way to the edge of the roof, ignoring the way the maneuver left purplish blood smeared in his wake, he looked for the source of the scream—for Kain. Shaking away the blackness that threatened his vision, Raziel found him—pinned by the head Hylden, gravely wounded.

"Kain ..." he murmured, and then the Hylden reached down, plucking an object from Kain's fingers ... a small shard of blue. _The amulet. Of course ..._ The first demon had mounted the roof—he could hear it moving towards him, its hooves slipping upon the clay tiles, brimstone breath a stench in the air. Ignoring it, Raziel concentrated. He needed to do this quickly ... with a shaking hand, he traced the sigil to open the dimensional pocket.

The Hylden held aloft its prize. Slowly, an expression that might have been a smile drew back its thin lips, exposing jagged teeth. "Ah -- what a splendid little toy, vampire. A means of escape... and the means of entry." it hissed, and glanced down to where Kain's fingers twitched nervelessly upon the hilt of the Reaver. The blade's glow was bright and insistent; the Hylden stepped back and jerked Kain upright in tight-wrapped bonds of burning green energy. The Reaver clattered to the ground.

The Hylden did not seem to know the Reaver -- or the significance of the blade did not register. All its attention was focused upon the plain blue amulet. Kain drew breath to suggest the foul beast break the amulet and see what happened, when he... felt something. A twisting disconnect, as if threads of power were being neatly and skillfully severed from his mind. He watched the Hylden's eyes turn towards the foundry rooftop -- towards Raziel, and his amulet.

Sleep teased at Kain's awareness, and his physical ability to sense his surroundings -- his sight and hearing, touch and scent -- were shutting down, even as his skin became duller and more stone-like. He could not permit the Hylden to reach Raziel. Fuelling the spell purely with the dregs of his power, Kain traced along a fine spool of power he'd laid down betwixt Raziel's pool of energy and his own, back when he'd first taught the elder this spell. Wrenching cruelly, Kain clawed into the elder's mind and forced Raziel's subdimensional fold open from a distance.

Invisible to any other creature save Raziel, a gray space split into reality before Kain, nothing but a broken and ripped backpack within. The Hylden, furrows upon its brow, seemed to concentrate, focusing. For Kain, even the smallest movement was no longer possible. The wave of green energy was nearly upon Raziel; there were no longer any choices.

Kain's hold upon Raziel's mind tightened. No time to explain, no time to take care, Kain plundered the power he needed.

He almost ... had the spell ... could feel the magic form .... Then, somehow, it was wrested away from him in an instant, the magic of his very being torn up from its roots to another's control. Raziel did not even have time to scream out his agony as the fibres of mind and spirit were ripped roughly asunder. He could only convulse, talons clawing great rents into the roof tiles, eyes blind and staring. _Kain!_

The hammerblow of the demon's fist, when it came, was a mercy. Raziel sank into the darkness it brought, and did not rise again.

The flow of power was cut off with Raziel's consciousness, but Kain had what he needed. The blast radiated outwards from his unresponsive body, showering the startled Hylden and guardsmen with chunks of cobblestone. The Reaver was blasted from its place, shot pointfirst into the blank gray opening. The length of the blade pierced cleanly through the torn knapsack, shearing clothing, breaking apart vials -- and sundering the small blue amulet contained within.

The Reaver and the backpack vanished as the blank gray void disappeared, abruptly departing the plane with its master.

Stony exhaustion overtook Kain's consciousness. His last sight was the Hylden's eyes, gleaming and alight with furiously rapacious intelligence; as green as the weapons of the men that clustered close -- as the glyph-inscribed manacles and muzzle the guardsmen produced.

The oval of Kain's own amulet hung, unbroken, in the Hylden's long-clawed grasp.


End file.
